Nocturnale
by Skull Bearer
Summary: Some places and feelings are better left untouched, but often there is no choice. As the War grows ever darker, tensions and disturst brood between Raistlin and Dalamar. Seventh in the Ivory and Ebony series and covers 'Winter Night'. AU. Slash. Complete.
1. To Depart

_Here we are, chapter one of my version on Dragons of Winter Night, which will definitely be shorter than Autumn Twilight, thank Nuitari._

_Dedicated to Chetwynd for the beta and for giving this instalment its name._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter one - To Depart

_We get some rules to follow  
That and this  
-No one Knows, Queens of the Stone Age._

You would think that after everything they had done for them, the dwarves would be a little more accommodating. Finding the Hammer of Kharas had hardly been easy work, and the least they could expect was a little slack on the part of the mountain dwarves. Apparently not.

Dalamar returned the dwarf's expression scowl for scowl, but this one had a ridiculously thick beard, a moustache that put Sturm's to shame, and devilishly thick eyebrows; making it hard for Dalamar to intimidate the square-inch of face not overgrown with hair.

The Dark elf was wondering if the dwarf might show him a little more respect -or at least less vitriol- with his beard shaved off, when someone tugged at the back of his robes.

"Let it go," Raistlin said wearily.

Throwing one last ugly look at the dwarf, Dalamar turned away, sighing.

Thorbardin might be a sight better than Qualinesti, but staying anywhere where you were constantly subject to derision would wear on anyone's nerves. At least on the road he and Raistlin could be left alone. Here, the inhabitants of the dwarven stronghold seemed to have no problem with telling them exactly what they thought of mages and Dark elves. Even the Red Robe, who tended to be harder to get at, had finally lost his temper at one particularly irritating individual, retaliating with some choice comments about how Krynn might have been better served had the army of Fistandantilus razed Thorbardin to the ground. Dalamar had been impressed. The scene that had followed had been rather ugly and after that, the majority of the mountain dwarves had left them alone. Nevertheless, there were still those who, for some reason or another, took particular umbrage at their presence and went out of their way to make that perfectly clear.

Hopefully, they would be leaving soon, Half-elven was sitting in council with the Highseekers, trying to work out what should happen now. The humans could hardly stay in Thorbardin after all.

Dalamar didn't want to stay either. Quite aside from the place's inhabitants, he'd never liked being underground at the best of times. Pax Tharkas had been tolerable, he'd had enough to worry about to keep him from wondering if the roof was going to come down, but this was putting him even more on the edge. Looking for the Hammer had been particularly grinding; it meant going even deeper underground and hunting around a complete maze of corridors. After that little escapade, he had headed straight outside and not moved until he could face the endless tunnels again.

No, the sooner they left, the better.

Yet at the same time... At least here they could forget certain problems. The dark mage hadn't seen Sturm for more than a few minutes at a stretch, not counting when they went hunting for the Hammer. The knight had only become more obnoxious as time went on, and Dalamar had often seen his hand clench on the hilt of his sword, as though longing to draw it.

Quite beyond this, there was also the matter of those certain... issues with Raistlin and the secrets his lover persisted in keeping. The Dark elf had no doubt that when they left, that particular difficulty would be the first to emerge.

The human wizard ran a hand over his shoulder, drawing Dalamar from his thoughts. "Shall we go and listen in on the Council?"

Dalamar turned and smiled. "I'm sure they'll need _someone_ with half a brain to check if their plan holds water."

Raistlin rolled his strange golden eyes. "They won't welcome it though."

Quietly, so as not to attract attention, they made their way towards the small chamber where the Highseekers were meeting. Personally, Dalamar wondered why anyone even bothered to listen to the fools. These were the same people who had originally thought the Dragon Highlords were here to help them after all. Still, when the two mages ducked through the dwarf-sized doorway, they found that Elistan was the one speaking. Though the old man didn't like either of them, the Silvanesti exile for one had to admit that he spoke a good deal more sense than the rest of the Highseekers.

At least, that was the Dark elf's opinion until he heard of the plan the man was proposing. To send an expedition to Tarsis and try to charter a ship for the refugees.

Dalamar stiffened, quite besides the considerable personal distress that even _thinking_ of such a plan brought, Dalamar found it hard to imagine what Elistan was planning to achieve. Very well, he could excuse the man's ignorance -he himself was probably the only one in Thorbardin who knew that Tarsis hadn't been a port city since the Cataclysm, but even so, assuming they travelled past Tarsis and to the port cities beyond, what was he planning to do after that? Where was he planning to send the hundreds of refugees? And, to be perfectly honest, the very thought of returning to Tarsis in any context was enough to turn his stomach. Even so many years on, the memories were still raw, and how much worse it would be to actually _be_ in the city...

Raistlin was looking at him carefully, one hand resting comfortingly in the crook of his arm, he knew this announcement would hurt him. And he was right, Dalamar felt a flash of anger. He was right, it did hurt, for all that he wish for it to stop. "I'm fine," he hissed, more sharply than he meant. His lover blinked at his tone, and looked annoyed for a moment before sighing and moving further inside the room, out of the shadows of the doorway.

Quite a few people started at their sudden appearance, and not one looked pleased to see them. Tanis looked ready to order them out, and Dalamar caught a glimpe of Sturm Brightblade's face, furious that they should dare enter. Raistlin either ignored them of didn't see them, because he turn to Elistan, scowling at the Council in distaste of their idiocy. "You are fools," he hissed, "and you are living a fool's dream. How often must we remind you? How often must we warn you of the portent of the stars? What do you say to yourselves when you look into the night sky and see the gaping black holes where the two constellations are missing?"

Clearly, the Council was in denial. It was all too easy to lie to yourself, Dalamar had found; even he and Raistlin had fallen in that trap before, although nothing quite this absurd. These people had obviously convinced themselves that the fallen stars meant nothing, and were cheerfully considering shipping off most of their number with no clear destination in mind. More than a little irked at the long-suffering looks the Council were shooting amongst themselves, the Dark elf stepped up to offer his support. "Can you not see? Are you all blind to this? The constellations are the marks of the Gods. So if they are not in the sky, they must be elsewhere. The constellation of the Queen of Darkness is missing because She is here on Krynn! And the Warrior, the ancient God Paladine, has gone too, gone to fight her." The thought made his shiver internally. He had never cared for either Takhisis or Paladine, than the thought that such beings were actually on Krynn... it was unbelievable, but what other explanation could there be?

This time the looks were of growing outrage, and the Silvanesti felt even more irritated. Who were they to lecture _him_ on what was blasphemy? He had known of the true Gods while these fools were still bowing and scraping to the ridiculous Belzorite statue! "Mark our words," Raistlin finished. "With the Queen of Darkness come her 'shrieking hosts', as it says in the 'Canticle'. And the shrieking hosts are dragons!" Outrage drew that last word into a hiss, and Dalamar nodded, scowling at the Council to add weight to his lover's words.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. Hederick, the Highseeker of Solace who still sported a blackened hand as testimony to his prejudices, was certainly unconvinced. "We know all this," he started, scowling at the two mages. He was forced to back down under the combined glare, no longer ice and steel but ice and fire. The look in Raistlin and Dalamar's eyes were enough to make the idiot's knees buckle. "W-hat are you driving at?" he stuttered when he found his voice.

"Peace no longer exists anywhere on Krynn," the human wizard said simply. "Go, find ships, travel where you will. Wherever you go, you will see those gaping black holes. Wherever you go, there will be dragons!" He looked to be about to say more, but was overcome by a coughing fit. He leant heavily on his staff, doubled over against the spasms. The fit was a bad one, and Raistlin's hand was stained with blood when he took it away from his mouth. Dalamar stepped closer and rubbed the mage's back to ease the pain, scowling when Caramon rose to help. The last thing they needed was that big lout blundering about. As soon as Raistlin had recovered enough to walk, they left the hall.

Raistlin wiped his mouth again, and his lover winced at the flecks of blood. He had given up on the hope that the new- or old- clerics could heal his lover, but if nothing else, he could at least know who had hurt his companion so badly.

One way or another, he'd have their head.

"Kitchens," the human choked out and Dalamar nodded, heading down the long corridor that led to the communal kitchens of Thorbardin.

The Red Robe had a second, shorter coughing fit as they reached the swelteringly hot rooms where most of the cooking was carried out. The few dwarves in the kitchens gave both mages ugly looks, but they had enough sense not to challenge them as Raistlin sat down on a stool and the Dark elf found a kettle of hot water. The human drank his tea down with a sigh of relief. The Dark elf pulled up a second seat and smiled at his lover as his breathing finally eased. Raistlin's returning smile was a little embarrassed and he looked away, studying the red glaze of his mug intently. Amused- after all this time, was Raistlin still embarrassed?- Dalamar leant over and gently kissed his lover's forehead before sitting back. "Feeling better?"

Raistlin looked up and nodded, then his smiled faded. "What did you think of what was being proposed?" The look in the younger mage's eyes told his lover that he wasn't expecting any praise.

The Silvanesti sighed, "I agree with you that it would not only be a waste of time, but it would also be dangerous. Travelling like that will just leave them open to attack, besides, where would they go? I didn't hear that proposed."

Raistlin nodded. "And like all foolish notions, it will probably be followed. They want to do something, no matter how dangerous and pointless, rather than sitting and waiting."

The Dark elf looked down at his hands, and swallowed, their unspoken words hanging heavy between them. The idea of going back to Tarsis... well, there were few places that would hurt more to go back to, short of Silvanesti itself. However, the human wizard was right, they would probably end up going back there. He considered telling the Council that Tarsis hadn't been a port city since the Cataclysm, but he knew it wouldn't change much. The would probably refuse to believe him, especially since the others would undoubtably believe he was only saying so to avoid going there. Even if they did believe him- which, considering Brightblade, would be a miracle- they would still need pass through it on their way to the true port cities further south, Rigitt perhaps. He felt a stab of anger in the knowledge that the Council would expect the two of them to go there. He would have been happy to leave Thorbardin only an hour ago, but after learning of the destination... But what was the alternative, he was caught with the same trouble as the Council; where to go?

He didn't notice how hard he was clenching his hands until Raistlin covered his fists with his own slender fingers. Dully, the Dark elf looked down as his lover slid his hands up his arms and over his shoulders, pulling him in close. Dalamar closed his eyes, and let his wound-taut body relax against his lover's. Raistlin's hand curled through his hair, pulling his head down to rest on his thin chest. The fabric was wonderfully soft, the heat of Raistlin's body burning through the fabric, and with every breath he drew in the warm scent of magic and spices that clung to his lover. He let out his breath with a sigh, and let the images of Tarsis go, pushed away by Raistlin's warm presence.

"Ahem." Someone behind them cleared their throat pointedly. The Dark elf pulled away reluctantly, feeling absurdly cold in the sweltering kitchen, before turning to scowl at whoever had been rude -and foolish- enough to interrupt.

Oh, wonderful. Tanis.

"Isn't it your turn to stand watch _half-human?"_ Dalamar snarled.

Tanis looked as though he would much rather be walking the endless walls of Thorbardin in the freezing night than spend time talking to them, but spoke anyway, obviously feeling awkward at having to ask him anything. "As you know, we're going to Tarsis." He spoke as though it had already been decided. "You're the only one who knows anything about the place, so I was hoping you might tell us something."

Dalamar gritted his teeth. He couldn't remember anyone asking _his_ opinion, nor that he was in any way obliged to obey Tanis, not to mention that The Half-elf had been one of those to announce his past in Tarsis to half of Solace Vale. That he had actually already agreed to drag them off to the place where that shameful time took place, without consulting them for even a coherent plan in mind, was unbelievable. And now he had the nerve to demand that _Dalamar_ do him a _favour? _The Silvanesti had to struggle not to throw something -preferably a painful spell- at the self-pitying bastard. Instead, he just sneered at Half-human, if he wanted answers, he would have to get them from elsewhere, Dalamar wasn't going to help him in any way in this one.

He heard someone snort from the doorway, and turned to see Sturm clambering clumsily through the dwarf-sized opening, his armour clanging and scraping. "Come on Tanis," he turned to the Half-elf. "You should know better than to ask. As though he cares-"

"Not now Sturm,"his friend said tiredly, still looking at Dalamar. "We're going to Tarsis anyway, so if you _do_ want us to succeed, you should tell us what you know of the place."

Dalamar remained silent, although he could feel Raistlin's eyes boring into his back. Yes, it was petty, but right now petty was exactly what he was in the mood for. If they had to go to that blasted place again, wasn't going to help them one step of the way. Let them go, let them treck all the way there and see that it was useless, then come back and perhaps consider a better plan. He was starting to consider actually just staying here with Raistlin when an old memory prodded itself into the forefront of his mind. He considered it and had to hide a smile; perhaps it would actually be worth it to make this trip, quite besides this particular idea, it would be worth it to see the other's faces.

Sturm shook his head, his eyes narrowed at Dalamar. "You know very well he doesn't want us to succeed, Tanis. You shouldn't have told him to begin with. For all we know he'll go straight to tell the Dragonarmies where we are going."

"If we'd wanted to betray you, knight, we'd have done it long before this!" Raistlin snarled, the coughed and swallowed another mouthful of tea.

Sturm didn't so much as look at Raistlin, which only made Dalamar angrier. The knight nodded toward the door and he and Tanis departed. Raistlin waited until the Half-elf and the knight had left to turn back to Dalamar, sighing. "Dalamar, why did you do that? You know there's no point in heading to Tarsis, there's not been any water there since the Cataclysm! How do you think they will react? I wouldn't be surprised if Half-elven and the others will start to agree with Brightblade's opinion of you."

Dalamar sighed, feeling the anger ebb away. He could deal with disgust from Half-elven, hatred from Brightblade and distrust from everyone else without so much as blinking, but even something as small as dismay from Raistlin hurt. And Raistlin wasdisappointed in him. "Do you think they'd have believed me even if I'd told them?" Dalamar raised an eyebrow. "At least this way we'll have the pleasure of their faces when they see Tarsis for the first time."

Raistlin shook his head and sighed, "Is that really worth it considering how much it will aggravate Brightb lade?"

Dalamar snorted, "Who cares?"

The younger mage rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "Dalamar, you know perfectly well the knight is just looking for an excuse to attack you. He's drawn steel on us before and even if you don't care, _I_ do. We need the others, at least for the time being, and I don't want to travel knowing Brightblade wants to kill you.

The Dark elf sighed again. Raistlin _was_ right, he was being selfish and petty, but the thought of getting up and explaining everything to the others, particularly now, was sickening. Besides... "I don't think there will _be_ trouble, or at least, not much of it," he assured Raistlin with a thin smile.

His lover looked about to enquire, then shook his head. For once, the knowledge-seeking mage simply didn't want to know.

* * *

The journey started out well enough, the weather was warm, and Dalamar was reminded of the stark contrast to when he had last been here. The dwarven gate had been closed then, and it had been mid winter. The memory of the endless climb past the mountains was not a pleasant one, though anything had been better than what he had left behind. And now he was going back; under different circumstances to be sure -thank Nuitari- but all the same...

The companionship also left a lot to be desired. The others were absurdly cheerful and seemed to be pretending that the last few months had not occurred. In contrast, Raistlin was even quieter than usual. Any question posed to him was answered with a snarl, and while he was more polite to Dalamar, he was no more talkative.

Dalamar began to understand why a few days later. At first, he had thought the feeling of danger had been prompted by his own memories, but even those couldn't explain the growing aura of menace that followed them as they headed south. It had been like the storm clouds in Xak Tsaroth had invoked, only quieter and more insidious. By the time the first snows fell on the party, the others had also felt it, and the sight of the clear trail they were leaving through the snow did not improve the feeling. Then again, if something was following them, they would see it; the Plains of Dust were completely flat for miles around.

Dalamar shivered and wrapped himself in his thick black cloak, grateful for it. The cold was biting and he knew it would only grow worse the further south they travelled. It had also been early winter when he had been exiled, he remembered, and it was a miracle he had been able to reach Tarsis at all, it had been so cold. In addition, he hadn't had the protection of the fur-lined cloak he now wore. Cold and hunger, that was all he could remember of those first few weeks, and perhaps it was a good thing. He had too many nigthmares as it was.

And most of those came from the very place he was heading to.

A hand fell on his shoulder then. Dalamar didn't move, just lifting his own hand to cover it. Raistlin stepped closer and slid his other arm around the Dark elf's waist, embracing him from behind, and resting his head on his lover's shoulder. Dalamar closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the human's hand, grateful for the support. Crushing down the memories under a force of will colder even than the snow around them, the dark mage forced the thoughts out of his mind. He was all right, would be all right. They would both be fine, because at the moment, Dalamar really couldn't deal with any other possibility.

* * *

Even with Raistlin, Dalamar found the journey to Tarsis was as every bit as cold and unpleasant as the one when he had first left. Perhaps even worse, because at least then he'd been warmed by the certainty that wherever he was going, it had to be better than what he was leaving behind. The thoughts promped a smile from the Dark elf, and he glanced over at his companion. Well, he had been right about that, anyway. But even the knowledge that his stay at Tarsis would be very different that the last time he was there didn't put him at ease. It wasn't just fear of being recognised -he had been gone for nearly a decade and no doubt his previous 'customers' had found other unfortunates to sate their lust on.

Dalamar crushed that thought down mercilessly, no more. He was angry, at Tanis, at himself, at the Gods. He had spent so long beating down those memories until they could no longer hurt him, and it seemed the fates liked to mock him by dragging them out again. Once in Solace, with Caramon and his band of merry fools, and now here. Just when the wounds were starting to heal, they would be torn open again.

Gloomily, the Dark elf stared south, at the line of small hills beyond which the land-locked city of Tarsis waited.

The companions' expressions had better be worth this.

_Skull Bearer._


	2. To Support

_Dalamar Nightson: Glad you like._

_The Sylver Kitsune: As I explained, this'll make little sense if you haven't read the rest of this series._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: No rest for the wicked...-grin-_

_Kalpana Silverstar: I love this series too much to leave it for very long, hope you enjoy it as much as I do._

_Myar: Thanks for the support ;)_

_As usual, many thanks to Chetwynd for the beta and the suggestions._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter two- To Support

_These and those  
No one knows_  
_No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age_

Raistlin shot a glance at Dalamar, trying to gauge the Dark elf's emotions. Had anyone else tried, they would not have seen much behond those steel-grey eyes, but after almost seven years, Raistlin was adept at seeing through the shield of forced impassivity the his lover projected when he was in pain. He reached out and his hand closed around the elf's arm above the elbow. Dalamar looked around dully and tried to smile, failing miserably. Raistlin didn't speak, words would be trite and pitying; instead he turned to face Dalamar, touching one finger under the elf's chin to urge him to meet his eyes.

The dark-robed wizard looked up and turned away, eyes drifting listlessly to the hills beyond which the city of Tarsis stood, then closing with a sigh.

Raistlin slid his hand up the side of his lover's face, then drew the Dark elf's head down, pulling him closer, offering himself in soundless support. He held him there for a few moments, until the brittle stiffness in Dalamar's body dissolved. His lover gave a second, almost heartbroken sigh and relaxed, resting his head against his companion's shoulder. Raistlin smiled sadly as the elf reached around to hold him in return, fingers tightening on his red robes a little tighter than necessary. Raistlin lay his head against Dalamar's shoulder, trying to ignore the slight hitch in the Dark elf's breathing.

He remembered the day Caramon and the others had laid bare Dalamar's past, recalled the Dark elf's reaction. It had been the first time he had seen his lover cry and he hand't been able to hide how much it had shocked him. It wasn't a shock now, but it hurt. Dear Gods it hurt. To see Dalamar in pain and be unable to help him. Dalamar had seemed to have come to terms with what had happened, and it had looked as though the memories no longer haunted him as they had. Certainly, he had fewer nightmares on the subject. He had believed Dalamar was finally dealing with his past. But yet again apparently, the opposite was true; the Dark elf had simply ground the memories down and tried to forget about them. Perhaps it had worked for a while, but now they were laid bare again they hurt just as much as they had before.

Dalamar fnally pulled away, although there was a marked reluctance in the movement. His silver eyes were strangely liquid, but when they closed, no tears slipped free. Raistlin leant in and pressed his forehead against the Dark elf's, hands seeking and twining with his lover's, giving what comfort he could, comfort which should have been given earlier. He felt a stab of guilt at his previous behaviour. How many days Dalamar had been forced to deal with this burden alone, he didn't know. He should have helped, he knew, but it was hard to offer comfort with whispers hissing warnings of fear and disaster in your mind. Whatever these strange premonitions were, they had not quietened, becoming, if anything, louder and more insistent the closer they came to Tarsis.

As useful as the whispers had been in the past, however, Raistlin was becoming very irritated with them. It was hard to concentrate on anything with dire warnings being whispered to him at all times of the day, constantly remind him that he was walking into danger, and, oddly, the necessity of walking into exactly that danger.

Dalamar pulled away, looking more composed. He pressed a kiss against the human's forehead and held his hand a little tighter, smiling. "What are you thinking?"

Another question he couldn't answer. There were far too much of them now, and Raistlin wished Dalamar would stop asking them, although he knew the Dark elf didn't know what he was asking most of the time. He shrugged.

Dalamar's smile faded and he looked away, doubtlessly understanding what Raistlin meant. He anyone else seen him, they would have thought him composed and accepting. But Raistlin could see behind the iron mask, and could see the hurt the elf was keeping hidden.

The awkward silence was interrupted by Tanis, "When you've _quite_ finished, could you deign to join us?"

Dalamar didn't even deign to look at the Half elf, staring out over the hills. Raistlin supresed a sigh, trying not to think of the companion's reactions when they realised what Dalamar had kept from them. It was petty, and he knew Brightblade might well try and kill them for it, and it meant Dalamar was a good deal more distraut than even Raistlin could see, if he cared so little.

"According to the map, Tarsis is just over that range of hills, is that right?" the Half-elf continued, looking at Dalamar.

Dalamar didn't answer or even react. Tanis sighed, looked down at the map, gave the Dark elf one last quick glance; as though expecting him to spontainiously change his mind, then, with a final sigh, rolled up the map. Raistlin did look at Brightblade, he could all too easily imagine the knight's reaction.

Still, perhaps it would be all for the best. If the whispers were to be believed -and Raistlin hadn't known them to be wrong before- in walking into Tarsis they would be walking into danger greater than anything they had found in Pax Tharkas. Greater danger, and greater reward, and perhaps it would be best to get the knight out of the way before anything else happened. It would make enemies of the others, true, but that wouldn't be much of a change. Tanis suggested that he climb the hills and take a look around, and asking if anyone would accompany him.

This time the Dark elf couldn't quite hide the smirk twitching his lips, although if Half-elven saw it, he must have misinterpreted it. "I'll come," Raistlin put in, to Dalamar's obvious shock. As much as he hated physical exertion, he wanted to see this for himself, and he certainly didn't want to wait at the bottom of the hill, wondering what would happen when Tanis returned. It might also give them time to talk reason to the Half-elf.

Tanis gave him an odd look, obviously wondering how the frail mage was planning on making the climb. And he was right, the human wizard though in with a stab of anger at his weakness. "Caramon will help me," he added idly, glancing over to his brother. "_Won't you?"_ That Dalamar would come with his was an unspoken fact. The big warrior looked momentarily bewildered, then nodded and came to stand beside the red robed mage.

Sturm looked at the four of them, reserving special hatred for the two lovers. "I'll come with you too. I don't trust these two with either of you." Dalamar rolled his eyes and Raistlin hid a wince. He hadn't anticipated this to hapen, and as necessary as this fight might be, having it on the top of a hill was certainly not a good idea.

* * *

The climb was a cold one, and an equally frigid reception awaited them at the top. Tanis was up first. He looked around, turned pale, and started cursing. Dalamar smirked and the Half-elf wheeled around. "You! How dare you!"

The Dark elf sneered and pulled himself up, ignoring the furious Half-elf and reaching down to help Raistlin. He was grateful; even with Caramon's aid the climb had been hard, and he was exhausted.

Tarsis was very much as Dalamar had described it, a large city in the middle of the endless Plains of Dust, its riches little more than ruins. To the south the human wizard could make out the tattered shapes of the legendary white-winged ships, marking the city's slums. A strange thought, that this was where Dalamar had lived for two years. It had never really seemed real before now. Strangely, at the sight of the land-bound city, the whispers in Raistlin's mind ceased abruptly. Raistlin looked away and glanced over at Dalamar, The Dark elf was still turned away, with his back to Tanis and the city, his face set in a steely mask.

Rastlin drew a hand over Dalamar's shoulder, and the Dark elf sighed. Raistlin regretted bringing him up here. Dalamar would have had to see this sooner or later, but it still hurt.

"Raist, what's the matter? I don't-"

"Oh, use your eyes," the mage snapped at his brother. He really didn't have time for this.

Sturm joined them on the crest of the hill. "What is-" He stopped when he saw the sight that awaited him.

Tanis spat on the ground bitterly. "The sea's gone." He turned and scowled poisonously at the Dark elf. "Did that particular detail _slip your mind?"_

The knight wheeled around. "You knew!" He was furious.

Dalamar laughed bitterly. "Of course I knew, but you know perfectly well you wouldn't have believed you, and I certainly wasn't going to help you."

Their expressions had been comical, Raistlin admitted to himself, especially Caramon's, who was only now working out what the problem was, but the pleasure was overhung with the knowledge that the deception would spark a fight. He hardly needed the whispers to work _that_ one out.

He was right, Sturm's face had turned puce. "We came all this way for nothing!" the knight roared, drawing his sword. "By all the Gods-"

Dalamar's cold expression twisted into a hideous grin, one hand reaching for his spell components, the other for his dagger. It had hurt the Dark elf a great deal to come here, and even more to be forced to look on Tarsis again, and there was no doubt that he wanted to take all that rage and pain out on someone. Brightblade had just volunteered.

"STOP!" Tanis stepped between them. "Stop it! This isn't solving anything."

"He lied to us," Sturm hissed. "We have come all of this way only to go back, just because of his spite."

"I told you nothing." Dalamar spat. "And you would have come here anyway, even if you had believed me," He sneered at Sturm, "As though_ that_ would ever happen."

"And with good reason!" Sturm growled.

The half-elf lowered his hands and sighed, "Well, we're here. However that happened, we're here. We need to find a port city, and they're certainly not on the map." He frowned at Dalamar, "Do you know where they are? Or do you have issues with them too?"

"Why should we believe him?" Brightblade turned on Tanis.

Dalamar sneered at the knight. "Please don't, I would be pleased for an excuse to be rid of your presence-"

"Enough!" Tanis interrupted before the situation could escalate again. "We'll get into Tarsis and decide there. If there are towns further south, the people there will know of them."

Caramon looked around warily. "I don't like this, Tanis. We'll be out in the open again. I know something has been following us. I feel eyes watching -even now."

Well done, Raistlin thought. As usual, Caramon was the last to catch on. "Where else can we go?" he snapped at his brother. "You are right to say we are being watched, though far too late. I have known it since the people arrived at Southgate. I tried to warn them-" A coughing fit gripped him suddenly, with no warning. He doubled over, leaning on Dalamar.

"How do you know?" Half-elven demanded.

Wiping the flecks of blood from his mouth, the human wizard stared coldly at the half-elf for long moments, waiting until his cursed eyes turned him into a withered husk before continuing. "Haven't you learnt yet?_ I know._ Put it at that. I paid for my knowledge in the Towers of High Sorcery. I paid for it with my body and very nearly my reason. I paid for it with-" Raistlin stopped himself before he went any further.

"With what?" his lover asked, voice as chill and brittle as the icy air.

It was tempting to go on, to finally lay bare what had been hanging between himself and Dalamar, but not here, not now, and certainly not with this company.

"You know I can't answer," Raistlin said shortly, turning away and fighting back another cough.

Behind him, he heard Caramon. "It's just that I don't understand-"

Raistlin looked back over his shoulder. "Nor will you," he murmured, turning from his brother to Dalamar. "Ever."

* * *

They camped in the shadow of the hills that night, out of the wind and snow. The atmosphere was sombre and depressed, and even Tasslehoff was being uncharacteristically quiet. They didn't dare risk a fire -the feeling of being watched was too strong- and the cold was biting. It was a clear night, and the stars blazed down like flecks of sun-struck ice. Solinari had risen, and its white light made everything seem so much colder, turning the Plains of Dust into a ghostly landscape.

Dalamar hadn't spoken much, the twin pressures of memories and Raistlin' continued silence weighing heavily between the two of them. Raistlin felt another kick of guilt at the knowledge that he was responsible for some of the pain the Dark elf was feeling. If he hadn't been so stubborn in keeping his secrets, then his friend would have been spared at least _some_ mental pain.

Or would he? Would his confession alleviate anything or would he simply trade one pain for another, probably worse one?

Raistlin didn't speak, watching as Dalamar climbed into the bedroll they shared. Either due to the cold or for another reason, he had kept his robes on. The human mage sighed, removed his boots, and climbed in beside the Dark elf. They had thrown their cloaks over themselves as extra blankets, but even still, Raistlin was shivering. He was grateful he had remembered to drink his tea; even cold it would be enough to stave off his cough. The younger mage pressed up against his lover, who was curled up on his side, turning away from him.

Raistlin smiled a little at the comforting warmth of his lover's body and the black hair that tickled his face. His hands slid under the elf's robes and Dalamar squirmed a little at the cold touch. The skin under his robes was smooth and unmarred and deliciously warm, thawing the chill in his fingers. For a few moments, Dalamar was rigid as an iron bar, but when Raistlin slid his arms around him, he gave a soft, quiet sigh and relaxed into the embrace, even reaching up to touch Raistlin's wrist.

When Raistlin's hand starting rubbing circles along his collarbone, the other sliding down before slipping inside his robes, Dalamar caught his breath. "What are you doing?"

Raistlin kissed the side of his face, one hand dipping down to run over the Dark elf's chest, the other resting along his belly. "Just relax," he whispered into Dalamar's ear. It was a pity the climb had tired him too much to be able to look after the Dark elf the way he wanted to, but there were other ways to make his lover feel better.

Dalamar looked over his shoulder, lips twitching into a tired smile. "Are you offering to take my mind off things?"

Raistlin kissed him again, to his forehead this time. "Yes."

The Dark elf rolled over on his back, looking up into his lover's golden eyes. "Please."

Raistlin pressed himself closer, propped up on one elbow. His hand slid down Dalamar's chest to his abdomen, feeling the Dark elf twitch and shiver under his touch. A few more of the ties on those black robes were undone, and Raistlin slid his hand inside.

The Silvanesti jumped again, then laughed softly. "Your hands are freezing," he whispered. The human smiled, and rubbed his fingers over Dalamar's warm skin before tracking further down.

The Dark elf closed his eyes and sighed. When Raistlin kissed him, he felt those lips smile against him. He stayed like this, thoroughly kissing Dalamar, tongue flicking into and exploring his lover's mouth, swallowing the elf's moans at the sensations his hands were eliciting. Dalamar slid his arms around Raistlin's neck, groaning into his mouth and spreading his thighs, welcoming his lover's touch.

The human mage smiled against his lover's lips, feeling Dalamar buck under his caresses, the Dark elf's breathing becoming quicker and heavier as he approached the edge of control. It was a sweet delight to do this, to feel one as beautiful and desirable as his companion writhing under him, all but begging for his touch. Raistlin groaned, feeling his body react.

A growl started in the back of Dalamar's throat, rising to a low cry as the Dark elf lost control, jaw snapping shut and biting down painfully on Raistlin's tongue. He bucked up one final time against the human's hand and came hard. Raistlin pulled away, his clean hand going to his mouth. Dalamar had bitten him quite badly and he could taste blood. Cursing under his breath, the human wizard reached for a scrap of cloth from his pack and wiped the Dark elf's seed off his fingers.

"Are you alright?" Dalamar's voice was husky.

"You bit me." The human's words were muffled.

The Dark elf rolled over, pulling the human down and kissing him, his tongue brushing gently over the sore spot before pulling away.

For a few moments the two mages simply looked at each other. Dalamar looked much better, Raistlin decided. Clearly, the reminder that he didn't have to suffer through this alone had been a great reassurance to the Dark elf. More than that, it had rekindled the intimacy that had been damaged by the silence between them.

Dalamar was smiling, and bent down to press his lips to Raistlin's forehead. "I love you."

The human mage reached up to hold him, pulling the Dark elf down on top of him and feeling as though his heart might melt. "And I you," he muttered into Dalamar's robe-clad shoulder.

There was a touch of mischief in the elf's eyes as he pulled away, one hand toying with the collar of Raistlin's dishevelled red robes, the other stroking the human mage's thigh. "Would you like me to return the favour?" he asked coyly.

Raistlin couldn't have stifled his smile for anything. Well, perhaps he wasn't _that_ tired, and he would have been lying if he said the sight of Dalamar's pleasure hadn't affected him. But still... "Are you sure?" After what had happened to Dalamar in this place, he would understand if he didn't.

Dalamar smiled, and stroked his thumb over Raistlin's cheekbone, "Of course," He kissed his forehead, "But thank you for asking."

Raistlin watched as his lover continued kissing his way down his thin chest, and was unable to stop grinning. The human tilted his head back and smiled up at the glittering stars.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It _was_ a long night, though not one Raistlin would have exchanged for any other. The intimacy was wonderful, the closeness a delight, and once their desires were sated, they fell asleep in each other's arms. The clear weather continued as it had that night, and Raistlin had been woken as much by the bright sun as by Tanis nudging him in the ribs. The Half-elf had looked more than slightly disgusted at the sight of them, and Dalamar's sneers hadn't helped. Luckily, Tanis changed the subject, reminding them that they needed to leave now if they were to get to Tarsis before noon.

The Dark elf's amusement had faded at the reminder, and Raistlin walked over to stand beside him, resting one hand on his lover's shoulder to remind him that he was not facing this alone. Dalamar had relaxed a little, but the darkness in his eyes was unabated.

* * *

They had reached the gates of Tarsis by midmorning, and apparently, the onset of war had made odd travellers more commonplace in the city, because other than a few odd looks and several pointed questions to Dalamar, the guards allowed them to enter with little difficulty. The rules of entrance must have been relaxed in the near-decade since the Dark elf had been turned away. All the same, Raistlin saw Dalamar tense each time the guards looked at him, but luckily, none of them seemed to remember him, and Raistlin saw some of the tension and pain in the Dark elf's eyes dissolve.

There was something up though, because when they passed through the gate, Raistlin saw one of them slip away. She might be going to use the privy, but somehow Raistlin doubted it. Dalamar saw her too, but he didn't look surprised, or even worried. While this was somewhat reasurring, the satisfied look on Dalamar's face told another story. Raistlin didn't think it was due to being let in.

The inn they found was, rather ironically, called the 'Red Dragon'. Personally, Raistlin thought that this was tempting fate. Once inside, he noticed Dalamar was shooting looks over to the door. "What is it?"

"We've been followed." The Dark elf smiled grimly.

"By whom?"

"You'll see."

Raistlin sighed and shook his head, then tried to forget about it. At least this little plot was keeping Dalamar's mind off where they were. Talking of which: "How are you feeling?"

Dalamar sighed. "I never came into the city proper, so this doesn't evoke memories, and at least nobody knows me. If I... if we were in the slums, that would be another story, on both counts." The Dark elf sighed and seemed to slump down a little at the thought. The human touched his shoulder in support. He wasn't here alone.

"Enough," Dalamar said softly, pulling his hood down further, throwing his pale face in shadow.

Raistlin nodded, and they walked over to join the others at a table.

Flint shot them both ugly looks as they sat down. "This is what comes of trusting a Dark elf!" he snorted. "Double-crosses us for no reason!"

Raistlin shook his head in disgust. Dalamar hadn't told them anything, had never offered anything to be trusted. And considering where they were, he had a perfectly good reason for letting them think what they wished.

"It doesn't matter," Tanis sighed yet again, waving over a barmaid. "We can buy provisions here and carry on to another port city, Rigitt perhaps."

The dwarf snorted again, "Was that his idea?" he jerked his head at Dalamar, "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"Do you want to go back to Thorbardin and admit you've failed?" Dalamar asked, raising an eyebrow.

Raistlin his a smile behind the mug of hot water the barmaid had just brought over. It was a good point, and the old man could hardly debate it, seeing as the Hill and Mountain dwarves had been feuding for generations. Flint would become a sailor before he admitted failing anything to the Hylar.

As expected, the dwarf spluttered and fell silent. The table was quiet as food was brought over. The younger wizard pulled out his pouch of herbs and dropped some into the hot water, watching as they seeped and mixed. Dalamar nudged him. "Are you hungry?"

Raistlin looked up, momentarily startled out of his reverie. The Dark elf was offering him a plate of hot meat and bread. The human mage took it. While not exactly hungry -watching food rot and decay would put anyone off eating- he did need to eat, and this would be as good as anything. He smiled his thanks to Dalamar. He couldn't bring himself to touch the meat, but the bread was edible. He ate slowly, occasionally sipping his tea. Between his cough and his cursed eyes, eating anything was a difficult task. He couldn't look at anything too long before it seemed to rot away -destroying his appetite- but at the same time, he had to eat slowly in order not to choke. At least the tea helped.

Tanis was the first to put his plate aside. "We need to discuss what to do next. There may be other port cities further south, we'll need to find out. We'll also need to buy more provisions, seeing as we weren't planning to go so far." He shot an ugly look at Dalamar, who ignored him.

The half-elf nodded. "What do you think, Elistan?"

The old cleric had been very quiet, and had eaten even less than Raistlin. "I suppose it is our only choice, but I will return to Southgate. I cannot be away from the people long. You should come with me too, my dear." He touched Laurana's hand. "I cannot dispense with you."

Raistlin took another sip of his tea to hide his amusement at Tanis' scowl.

Goldmoon and Riverwind also decided to return with Elistan, and Sturm offered to go with Half-elven.

"Us too, of course," Caramon added, looking at the two mages.

Raistlin narrowed his eyes at his twin for having the temerity to choose for him, and looked over at Tanis thoughtfully.

But before he could voice his decision, Sturm broke in, "I don't think your brother is fit to travel, Caramon-" He shot a malevolent glare at the wizard, as if daring him to disagree.

"So very concerned about my health, aren't you, Brightblade?" the human mage hissed. "But it isn't that, is it? Not when you've made it so abundantly clear that you would want both Dalamar and I dead. No, you fear me; you fear both of us-"

And he was right to, Raistlin thought darkly, more settled than even on the decision that the Solamnic would have to die before he got one or both of them killed. The knight was not wrong to fear them, for though his skill at arms had improved, so had the mages' expertise.

Dalamar could cast from Fistandantilus' spellbook now, something that had eluded the Dark elf even after Pax Tharkas, and he was skilled enough that the human didn't doubt that, once this war was finished, the Silvanesti could go to the Tower of High Sorcery and take his Test with little fear.

But Raistlin... well, he could cast many more spells from Fistandantilus' spellbook than his friend could, as well as a few he had copied from Fizban's, but it wasn't just that what unnerved Brightblade. Perhaps it was the whispers, or maybe the cold chill in the pit of his soul that reminded him of the lich's continued presence, but Dalamar had remarked a few weeks ago that he looked far more intimidating. The Dark elf had been smirking pointedly when he said it, reminding him that not _everyone_ was affected, but it was easy to see how the Solamnic felt threatened by the two of them. Especially since Sturm knew -although he'd renounce his knighthood before he admitted it- that the two wizards would likely be the victors of a confrontation.

"That's enough!" As usual, Tanis was playing village catchpole, trying to stave the inevitable fight.

"The mage goes back, or I do," Sturm hissed, eyes mere slits.

"Enough!"

Raistlin looked away from the red-faced knight and looked over at Dalamar. "What do you think?"

"I think the knight should go and shove his sword up-"

"Stop it!" Half-elven was looking exasperated.

Raistlin sighed. Dalamar's hatred for Brightblade, however well placed, was getting on his nerves. The knight just wasn't worth it.. "About what to do now."

The Dark elf paused for a moment, looking pensive and decidedly torn. "I'm not sure," he murmured to his friend. "And as much as I would love to leave this city and never return, it might be in our interests to stay."

Raistlin nodded. He had a feeling he knew what would be tempting enough to his lover that he might not want to leave yet. "The old library."

The Dark elf nodded. "You know me too well."

The idea was very attractive to the human as well. The old library of Tarsis had housed hundreds of books and scrolls, many of them magical. Seeing as the place hadn't been disturbed for so long, there was a good chance that many of them had survived. After all, the scrolls had been made to withstand the damp, wet weather of the coast, and the dry air of the Plains of Dust would doubtlessly have helped to preserve them.

Who knew what might be found there?

Raistlin nodded again. "Yes, it might be a good idea to stay for a few days. How long do you think it would take them-" he nodded towards the other companions "-to get to and from Rigitt?"

Dalamar thought it over. "About a week at the most, it isn't very far and the roads should still be clear."

Tanis nodded. "You know I'll be asking around for confirmation," he warned.

The Dark elf shrugged, he couldn't care less.

Leaving the others discussing their course of action, Raistlin leant in close to his lover. "Are you sure?"

Dalamar didn't ask what was talking about. He fiddled with his knife for a moment then replied, "I think so. I do want to visit what's left of the library, and as long as nobody recognises me, there shouldn't be any problem." The Dark elf looked up, his black hood falling askew across his pale face. "I'm just trying not to think about it."

Raistlin nodded, clasping Dalamar's hand in his. "I won't remind you."

This time the Dark elf couldn't hold back a thin smile.

"Raist." The annoying sound of his brother's voice cut across the Red Robe's thoughts.

Irritably, he turned and scowled balefully at Caramon. "What do you want?"

"I'll be coming with you, okay?"

The wizard opened his mouth to say no, that it was not okay, but the Solamnic interrupted, "You are not."

The big man turned to the knight. "I wasn't asking you, Sturm."

Brightblade ignored the warrior, focusing on Raistlin. "I have had enough of you treating your brother like this, mage. The way you use and manipulate him... Enough. You, Caramon, are coming with us."

"We've talked about this time and again, Sturm," Caramon warned.

"And I see what you are too blind to! You don't care about him at all, do you, Raistlin? Just someone to use when you need him and to throw away when you don't-"

"Stop it!" the burly warrior stood up and faced Brightblade down. "You are the one who's blind-"

"Hush!" Dalamar broke in, holding up one hand for silence.

Now that his brother and the knight had stopped arguing, Raistlin could hear it too, the high-pitched, insistent whine of Tasslehoff's hoopak.

"What now?" the red-robed wizard groaned. He swallowed the last of his tea and stood, the Dark elf following.

Whatever the problem was, none of the inn's patrons or staff were waiting to find out, slinking out of the room as a breathless Tasslehoff came running in, still waving his hoopak at arm's length.

"Guards, Tanis! Guards! Coming this way!"

"Surely they can't be here because of us," the half-elf gasped. "Tas-"

"It wasn't me, honest! I never even reached the marketplace! I just got to the bottom of the street when I saw a whole troop of guards coming this way."

"What's this about guards?" Sturm demanded. "Is this one of the kender's stories?"

Raistlin turned, amazed, as Dalamar started to laugh, eyes narrowed at the Solamnic.

"They don't like Solamnic knights, Brightblade," he hissed. "Why do I think I agreed for us to come along? I wanted to be here to see the guards welcome you in person."

There was a moment of deathly silence, and the Red Robe could hear the tramp of booted feet approaching.

Sturm stared incredulously at Dalamar, then lunged forward with a roar of rage, his sword forgotten.

The Dark elf had clearly not been expecting such a direct attack, and the Solamnic forced him into one of the inn's tables, bearing him down. The table broke apart under their combined weight, sending the two combatants flying. One mailed hand locked around Dalamar's throat, and Sturm raised a fist to crush the wizard's face.

Raistlin's staff caught him under the jaw. The magically enhanced blow threw the knight off Dalamar, and there was a sickening crunch as Brightblade's teeth splintered under the force.

Snarling through the blood filling his mouth, the knight got to his feet, one hand going up to cover his lips, the other drawing his sword.

The younger mage pulled Dalamar up off the mass of splinters that had once been one of the inn's tables. The Dark elf rubbed his bruised neck, grabbing a handful of spell components.

"I'll kill you! You led us to our death, Dark elf whore!" Sturm spat through a mouthful of broken teeth.

That shot told, Raistlin saw his lover's shoulders stiffen and his eyes flash silver. "No. I led _you_ to _your_ death, Brightblade. _Ast kiranann kair gadunrm, soth-arn suh kali jalaran!"_

A bolt of shimmering lightning shot from Dalamar's fingers, and slammed into the knight, sending him crashing into the wall. The man slid down it, electrical crackles playing over his armour, a huge scorch mark on the wall.

The Dark elf doubled over, gasping. Raistlin looked at him in a mixture of amazement and pride; the spell was not an easy one, and although he himself could cast it with little difficulty, for Dalamar to succeed... and so well!

Tanis obviously disagreed. "You-" he grabbed a handful of the Dark elf's robes and shook him. "What in the blazes are you do -Ahg!" the half-elf yelped and doubled over. Dalamar had kneed him in the groin.

"You filthy, bastard son of a gully dwarf!" Flint shouted, charging at Raistlin, who dodged out of the way. Caramon intercepted the furious dwarf and pulled him away from his brother.

Goldmoon edged around the room and knelt down beside the unconscious knight, whispering a prayer to Mishakal. Elistan walked to stand next to her, adding his prayers to hers.

A loud crash from outside interrupted the melee, reminding the combatants of the approaching guards.

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other, then fled upstairs. Behind them, they heard Tanis shouting, ordering Caramon and the others to do the same. Flint, Tasslehoff, and -thank the Gods- a newly woken Sturm, decided to stay, at least they wouldn't have to deal with the knight again.

At hearing this, the younger wizard felt an odd shiver pass through him, and the whispers reawakened. The words were soft, but clear. Words of ending, of death, of fate and inevitability. The message was clear.

When Sturm bid the others farewell, Raistlin looked towards the door and sighed, turning away when the others came in. "And what a long farewell it will be," he murmured, his thin voice carrying clearly over the noise downstairs. "Some of us are not destined to meet again in this world."

Dalamar looked around, looking at him oddly. "Why do you say that?" he whispered.

"Yes," Riverwind's eyes were cold. "Why did you say that?"

Raistlin didn't answer, staring balefully at the Plainsman until he turned away. Once the two wizards were left alone, he nodded towards a table by one of the windows.

He and his companion walked over and sat down. "Dalamar-" he started, not sure what to say.

The Dark elf shook his head. "Don't. I know. You can't. Or won't. Or whatever reason you have for keeping this quiet." He swallowed, then looked up and met Raistlin eyes. "I know you have your reasons, or you think you do, but..."

Dalamar rubbed his face, sighing. "I wish you would just tell me. You say it would hurt me, but this silence is hurting me more." He covered the human's hand with his own. "Please."

Raistlin looked down at their joined hands, then up into the Dark elf's grey eyes, and back down at a tabletop marked by the cups and plates and initials of countless patrons. Slowly, silently, he shook his head, thinking that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to hold back. He continued staring at the table, not wanting to look up and see the disappointment in Dalamar's eyes.

The loud slam of a door broke the two mages out of their thoughts, and they looked out in time to see Tanis, Sturm, Flint, and Tasslehoff being led out by the guards.

However, even the sight of the Brightblade being dragged off was not enough to make Dalamar smile.

_Skull Bearer._


	3. To Despair

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Heh, it was fun. I hate Sturm and Tanis._

_Dalamar Nightson: As you said, it's neccessary, and you'll see why soon._

_Kalpana Silverstar: Thanks :)_

_I own nothing, and the poisons belong to George R. R. Martin. Sorry George, I couldn't help it._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter three - To Despair

_We get these pills to swallow  
How they stick  
In your throat  
Tastes like gold  
-No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age_

The silence dragged on endlessly. Normally, Raistlin would have prized and enjoyed the rare peace, but it was not to be. There wasn't simply one element that spoiled the peace. It was the palpable air of tension that filled the room; the low, static crackle of the whispers, not speaking, but warning him that something was very, very wrong; and most of all the far more personal tension between himself and Dalamar. The Dark elf hadn't spoken since Raistlin had rebuffed his questions; he had left the small table and was standing by the door, staring across the room but clearly seeing none of it. The other companions avoided him, no doubt still stunned by the Dark elf's treachery regarding Sturm.

Raistlin wondered what would happen to the Solamnic. Most likely, he would be thrown out. It would seem like a lot of work for a meaningless revenge, but Raistlin had a feeling that Dalamar had known the knight well enough to know that such disgrace would be -to him- worse than a flogging.

The human mage shot a glance at Dalamar. The Dark elf was still motionless, staring at the far wall with no expression. Raistlin bit his lower lip, feeling the guilt rise up and bite at his soul. Being here was certainly hurting his lover, but Raistlin knew this wasn't the only reason. His silence was so much worse. The younger mage sighed; perhaps he should tell Dalamar he had reconsidered. If his silence was going to hurt the Dark elf this much, then perhaps it would be better to tell the truth, at least then they could forget about it and move on. But they couldn't, could they, because that problem had a name, and it wouldn't end until Fistandantilus was dead. Assuming the Silvanesti even believed him, or didn't find something else to distrust him about. How could he reveal anything to one who had himself admitted that he would always think the worse of him, simply by instinct?

Another sigh. Raistlin rubbed his forehead and pulled out the spellbook he had found in Xak Tsaroth. Hopefully, he could get his mind off that topic with no answer.

After re-reading the same page for the third time and still not having any idea what Fistandantilus had written, the human mage gave up and closed the book. The irony of distracting himself with a book written by the very source of his misery was not lost on him. He looked out of the window, the sight of the crumbling skyline of Tarsis did nothing to improve his spirits.

Nor did the sound of footsteps as someone walked over to him. The only way _that_ could mean anything good was if it was Dalamar coming to soothe things over, and that was too unlikely to hope for.

If it was his brother, things were going to get ugly.

He focused on one of the windowpanes, moving his head to the side so he could see the reflection of who had dared disrupt his brooding. Not Caramon- thank the Gods- but not Dalamar either -more's the pity. It was Laurana.

"What do you see when you look far away like that?" The girl's voice was falsely curious, and Raistlin could hear the undercurrent of fear beneath it.

Raistlin didn't turn around, but continued staring out of the window, observing her reflection in the windowpane. The girl had remained a mystery to both himself and Dalamar, although that was perhaps simply because she was rarely around them and they'd had better things to do that talk to her. And to her credit, Laurana had returned the favour, leaving them both alone. When they had been forced to deal with her, Raistlin had found her unfailingly polite, if very much afraid of his companion. Now would be an excellent time to find out more about the daughter of the Speaker of Suns. The knowledge might come in useful one day, and at the very least, it would be enough to distract his mind out of the groove it was carving.

Even if the subject wasn't any more positive.

"What do I see?" he spoke at last, turning to see her face. Like Amberyl, she appeared eternally young, eternally beautiful, and and more repulsive than she would had he seen her dying. "I see time as it affects all things. Human flesh withers and dies before my eyes. Flowers bloom, only to fade. Trees drop green leaves, never to regain them. In my sight, it is always winter, always night."

The shock on Laurana's face was interesting. Was it honest empathy, or had she simply been too sheltered in Qualinesti, and would react to any tale of horror in the same fashion? Had this been any other time, Raistlin simply wouldn't have cared, but any port in a storm.

"And- and this was done to you in the Towers of High Sorcery? Why? To what end?"

Unbidden, the memory of a long-ago night returned, Dalamar's voice cold and angry as he spoke: _'He takes away any pleasure you might find, and after you have served your purpose, you conveniently disappear, and he doesn't even have to dirty his saintly white robes to do it.'_

As if thinking his name had summoned him, the Dark elf snorted loudly, "They never told him." Those grey eyes darkened. "And he never tells anyone."

The Qualinesti princess shivered under Dalamar's gaze, although Raistlin could have told her she was lucky; he had seen the Dark elf with far more vicious expressions on his face. Again, the memory of Amberyl reared its ugly head, but he shoved it away impatiently. Not now.

"Never tell anyone of what?" she hesitated.

"His Test." Dalamar detached himself from the wall, and walked over to them slowly.

Laurana looked visibly alarmed by the Black Robe's sudden proximity, and Raistlin wondered how many horror stories featuring Dark elves she had been fed. The Sturm fiasco had no doubt only reinforced this. Still, despite her obvious fear, she stayed put. Either she was brave enough to make the effort to ignore the exile's presence, or what she had to say was too important to allow her to be scared off. Perhaps both. The only effort Laurana made to hide her fear was to bow her head, allowing strands of her long blond-brown hair to fall over her face, hiding it.

There was a long moment of silence, until finally the girl could hold herself in no longer and stammered out, "I- I meant- can you see the future? Tanis told me your mother was -what do they call it?- prescient? I know that Tanis comes to you for advice sometimes..."

And the next time he did that, Raistlin would explain _exactly_ why personal matter were kept that way. But then again the Half-elf wasn't good at keeping quiet about people's pasts. He looked up at Dalamar, whose lip was curled.

Raistlin hesitated a moment, pondering the girl's question. In truth, he didn't know if he could see the future or not. Certainly not like his mother, who could be lost to visions for weeks at a time, but what else could explain the whispers? The Test must have touched something within him, some untapped potential that murmured warnings and fragments of the future. Perhaps Laurana was right.

Of course, he wasn't about to admit that.

"The Half-elf comes to be because I, unlike most of the others in this menagerie-" He nodded at Dalamar to reassure the Dark elf that he was excluded from the generalisation "-have the ability to think beyond wondering where my next meal is coming from." A pointed look at Caramon.

This was true enough, and although he hadn't answered Laurana's question, the girl would probably not notice.

"But -what you said. Some of us may not see each other again. You must have foreseen something! What- I must know! What it... Tanis?"

Raistlin felt more than saw Dalamar's narrowed eyes. "I don't know," he said finally, and he didn't. The whispers had been rather closed-mouthed on that subject. "I cannot say."

"But-"

He glowered at Laurana until the girl dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"So," he changed the subject, "Tanis told you about my mother."

Laurana nodded, clearly hoping that he would let slip something if she kept talking to him. "He said she had the gift of foresight. She could look into the future and see images of what would come to pass."

Raistlin snorted; some gift that had turned out to be. "Half-elven should learn to keep his mouth shut about people's private lives," he spoke scathingly.

Dalamar pulled up a chair over to sit down beside him, ignoring Laurana's alarmed glance. Raistlin managed not to smile, but when he caught Dalamar's eyes, he knew the elf had noticed.

Raistlin paused for a moment, the positions were reversed now, he was the one asking the questions. He wondered how best to bring his sister into the conversation. It would be interesting to see what the elfmaiden, clearly so smitten with Tanis, would make of the half-elf's old love.

"Yes," he started. "She was a seer, much good it did her. The first man she married was a handsome warrior from the northland. Their passion died within months, and after that, they made life miserable for each other. My mother was frail of health even at the best of times, and they were poor, living off what her husband could earn with his sword, and the birth of their daughter didn't help matters either way."

"Their daughter?" Laurana enquired.

Raistlin hid a smile. "My half-sister." He watched the Qualinesti closely. "Kitiara."

The girl's voice was tight. "Kitiara... She was your sister?"

He nodded. "Yes, older than Caramon and I by eight years. Very much like her father, I believe. As beautiful as he was handsome. Resolute and headstrong-" _jealous and bitchy_ "-warlike, strong and fearless-" _crafty, cunning, and all too happy to sacrifice others to her whims_. "Her father taught her the only art he knew –that of warfare. He began going on longer and longer trips, and one day vanished completely." _And how wonderful it would be if the same happened to Kitiara. Unfortunately, Raistlin knew better than to hope._

Raistlin stopped talking abruptly; feeling his breath snag, a telltale hint of an impending coughing fit. The feeling passed quickly, but the warning was clear. Since there were none of the inn's staff around and he'd rather not end this little inquisition prematurely, he sighed and resigned himself. "Caramon!"

The big man turned from where he'd been talking to Tika at the sound of his brother's piercing hiss. "Raist?"

Raistlin personally thought that, if his brother wanted to improve their relations, the first thing he could do would be to dispense with that incredibly irritating nickname. "It is time for my drink, or do I have to remind you of everything?"

The big man flushed. "No, Raist." And hurried off to warm a kettle of water.

Laurana hesitated, then continued, "What happened after that? Did Kitiara..." She stumbled over the name and Raistlin's lips twitched. Hook, line, and sinker.

"She left home when she was fifteen, following her father's example. She earned her living her living by her sword, and had little problem finding mercenary work. Oh she returned every so often, to see how we were getting along, and one day, she brought Tanis along." Raistlin saw the elfgirl flinch at the reference. "That was when we met him for the first time."

"We?"

"Most of those here, although I didn't meet Dalamar until a few years later." The human mage looked over at the Dark elf, who smiled back. "We travelled together with Flint, before he retired from metalsmithing. Soon however, it was time to separate." Oh yes, it had been time. Raistlin still couldn't bring himself to forgive any of the others for what they had done. "Tanis suggested they meet up again after five years."

"And you did as he said?" Laurana asked. "He was your leader, even then?"

Raistlin snorted, "He was _their _leader." He nodded at the others, "As the only one with any brains in the group, he was chosen fairly unanimously, I believe." Not that there'd ever been a vote. "Tanis is the only one capable of making intelligent choices, and so they galdly follow."

"I notice you leave out yourself and-" She shot a glance at Dalamar, who rolled his eyes.

"Sweet Nuitari, girl, stop look at me as it I'm going to eat you!" He shook his head in despair. "And no, we do not follow Tanis. For the moment we are simply travelling in the same direction as the rest of you."

The Qualinesti elfmaiden didn't appear in the least bit comforted by those words, and the moment was interrupted by Caramon bringing the kettle over. Raistlin thanked the big man idly, and watched as Laurana took the opportunity to retreat, hurrying back to Elistan. After shooing his brother away, he turned to Dalamar. "What did you make of her?"

The Dark elf smiled. "She's been listening to too many horror stories."

Raistlin couldn't help but laugh, and choked as his cough strung iron bars through his lungs. Taking a sip of his tea, he continued, "Seriously now."

Dalamar thought it over. "She's quite besotted with Half-elven, that's clear, but did you notice she doesn't seem to blame him for sleeping with Kitiara? She didn't look angry when you mentioned her."

The human mage nodded. "Nor does she seem to blame Kitiara, either. It may be that she blames herself."

"The way she acted in Pax Tharkas, I'm not surprised," Dalamar snorted. "Well, if nothing else we've gathered some blackmail material."

Raistlin smiled into his cup, raising an eyebrow at the Dark elf. "And what was this I heard about you eating her? Should I be jealous? You did seem rather interested when we saw her in Qualinesti."

Dalamar shot him an incredulous look, then laughed when he saw that his lover was only teasing. "Perhaps I was getting revenge." He grinned. "After all, I saw the way you were looking at Gilthanas."

This time Raistlin choked on his tea, the hot liquid burning his windpipe. He coughed, and Dalamar slid his chair closer, reaching over to rub his back. The human mage swallowed, blinking stinging eyes, then chuckled and leant over, resting his head on the Dark elf's shoulder, smiling as he felt Dalamar start to stroke his hair. He felt rather grateful to Laurana; if anything, the elfgirl had managed to diffuse the tension that had been so unbearable earlier. Raistlin slid his arms around Dalamar's back, lifting his head to kiss the Dark elf. His lover kissed back happily. Raistlin sighed against those warm lips, feeling the tension leave his body as Dalamar's arms closed around him and held him close. It was good to be home.

A sudden hiss of danger made Raistlin start, almost jerking out of Dalamar's hands. The whispers in his mind died down almost at once, returning to a dull susurration in the back of his mind, a wordless murmur of warning. Dalamar took hold of the Raistlin's shoulders and pulled him close again, holding him tightly, but Raistlin could feel the tension in his body. Even without the whispers, Dalamar too knew something was very wrong. He tightened his grip around the Dark elf's waist, silently grateful for the offered comfort in the unnatural silence.

And suddenly, without warning, that very silence shattered into a thousand shards of sounds. The two mages managed not to jump at the deafening horn blast, but pulled away from each other, going to the window and looking out.

These were not the horns of Tarsis, although these too were now wailing, their sound nearly drowned out by the now far-too-familiar brassy roar of the Dragonarmy horns.

"We _were_ followed," Dalamar breathed. His face was pale.

Raistlin didn't blame him, his eyes were fixed on the approaching hoard and he felt slightly faint. "I knew as much." What he hadn't known, though, was the sheer _size_ of the host that was even now screaming towards Tarsis. Hundreds of dragons, the red breed that had burnt Solace to the ground and nearly killed them all in Pax Tharkas.

Gods, they couldn't have killed even that one, how were they to stand against the numbers streaming from the sky?

Dalamar laughed suddenly, a cold, mirthless, despairing sound. Raistlin tore his eyes away from the horrific army and stared at the Dark elf. Dalamar seemed close to tears, and closer to hysteria. He stepped closer, rasing a hand to stroke his black hair, trying to calm him. Dalamar pulled away. "To think," He spat bitterly, "that for so long I wished to see this place burnt to the ground. My wish has been granted, and we will burn with it!" He laughed again, and the sound made Raistlin shudder. He didn't let him retreat further, and pulled his lover's head down against his shoulder, stroking his hair and back until the Dark elf started to calm down.

"This is hardly the time!" Riverwind's voice cut in. Raistlin glowered at him, surprised at the anger he felt. The Plainsman hated them both and had never made a secret of his feelings, but this was the first time he had felt this angry at anythign the man had said.

"What is it?" Elistan broke in before he could formutate an appropriately scathing answer. The cleric looked bewildered.

"The Dragon Highlord, attacking the city," Riverwind answered.

The first dragons crested lazily over the city walls, fire blazing from their jaws, and Raistlin pulled Dalamar away from the window as the first shockwave hit the building, shattering the glass to fragments. Goldmoon cried out as a shard lacerated her hand.

"We've got to get off this floor, back to ground level!" Caramon shouted over the roar as the flames spread. The outshirts of the city were already ablaze, and it would be a matter of seconds before the leading dragons reached them.

The Plainsman nodded. "Bring the knight's sword and the other weapons. If Tanis and the other's are-" The words 'still alive' hung in the air like lead. "-If Tanis and the others escape, they'll return here. We'll wait for them."

"Excellent decision!" Raistlin spat. "Especially since we have nowhere else to go!"

Riverwind ignored him. "Elistan, get the others downstairs. You mages, stay here a moment."

Raistlin bit back the urge to just leave, and show Riverwind they were not to be commanded by anyone, especially him. This was no time to be petty. The wary look in Dalamar made him pause for a moment though, Dalamar was probably wondering if the Plainsmen would attack them as Strum had done.

But Riverwind made no move to draw his sword. "Our best chance, the way I see it, is to stay inside, barricade ourselves inside the inn." He looked at Dalamar with narrowed eyes. "You've deceived us once, Dark elf, but if you lie again we'll all die, including you. Now tell me, is there any way out of this city?"

Dalamar turned, looking back out the broken window to where the dragons were laying waste to Tarsis. The sky was black with them and screams of the dying were deafening. "No." The word hung like the toll of a bell, and Dalamar closed his eyes. "I can't see how we can get out of this. The streets are a death-trap and, even supposing we split up and somehow made it out, the Dragonarmies would have surrounded the city by now." Raistlin could see the Dark elf's jaw working as he came to the inevitable conclusion.

"We can't be taken alive," the human wizard whispered the words they were all thinking, feeling a ball of lead lodge in his stomach. Dalamar's hand tightened painfully on his. The words were sickening, horrific, and completely true, and the knowledge of this made it far worse. So this was it then, the end.

Riverwind's voice shook when he spoke, "We'll hold out as long as we can, but when we know we can last no longer-" the Plainsman broke off, his hand going to the hilt of his knife.

The human mage shook his head. "There will be no need for that; I have herbs. A little bit in a glass of wine, very quick, painless." He sounded calmer than he felt, but his shaking hands betrayed his emotions. Dalamar's fingers squeezed his.

"Are you certain?" Riverwind asked.

Raistlin nodded, not trusting his voice a second time.

The Plainsman started at him, then at Dalamar, then back down at his dagger. Then he in turn nodded. "Very well." And went down the stairs as the sounds of death grew louder.

The two mages didn't move or speak, their hands still clasped together. Then, they slid into each other's arms, each holding the other tightly, as if daring even death to separate them. Raistlin closed his eyes, nuzzling Dalamar's neck. It seemed so unbearably selfish to be glad that the Dark elf was here with him, but it was true. To face this alone...

Dalamar's hand tilted his chin up, then he kissed him, slowly, tenderly, with the sweet intimacy they so cherished. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should have said something, we should have stayed behind-"

Raistlin shook his head, combing his fingers through the elf's dark hair. "We would have come this way anyway, you know that. And they would have found us no matter where we went. This is not your fault."

The Dark elf sighed, not disputing the point. He closed his eyes tightly. "Still, to end like this..."

Raistlin didn't answer, he didn't think he could, concentrating only on holding Dalamar, forcing the thoughts out of his mind and focusing on his lover. No matter what happened after this, right here and now they were here. The warmth of Dalamar's body, the shift and play of his muscles under those black robes, the strength of his hands as he held him in turn, all these Raistlin committed to memory as he lifted his head and kissed his lover again, cutting off any more words.

Dalamar sighed against his, opening his mouth to the other's tongue before feeling Raistlin do the same. They kissed each other slowly, thoroughly, before breaking apart, lips slightly swollen. The thought that this might be the last time made Raistlin shudder.

They stayed close, still holding each other, almost sharing breath, eyes locked. "Look for me," Dalamar whispered, silver eyes soft and liquid. "When this is over... look for me there." His hand cupped Raistlin's cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

Raistlin closed his eyes, resting his head on the Dark elf's chest, unable to speak. He nodded. It was so tempting to just not bother, to stay here together and wait for the end in each other's arms.

The Dark elf ran a finger along the younger mage's forehead, over the bridge of his nose, brushing feather light over his lips and chin. "Will you take the mixture you offered the Plainsman?"

Raistlin shook his head, swallowing before answering. "I'm not strong enough to survive such a battle. I will die within the magic."

Dalamar's smile was thin and pained as he ran his fingertips over his lover's hollow cheek. "Where you belong," he murmured. "Go without fear, I will be there to meet you."

With one final kiss, they pulled away from each other reluctantly, and scrambled down the shaking stair to join the others in their last fight.

* * *

The inn kitchen was filled with dust and choking ash thrown up by the dragons' passing. Raistlin coughed and covered his mouth in an effort to stave off another coughing fit. The thought almost made him smile. Fistandantilus would be disappointed.

A blast of smoke came through one of the broken windows, and Raistlin doubled over as it filled his lungs, coughing and hacking until he could barely stagger over to the pitcher of wine Riverwind had left out. Wiping flecks of blood from his lips, he took one of his black leather pouch from the pocket of his robe he kept it in. Few knew what was inside, only himself and Dalamar. These black pouches held the more lethal herbs and powders: deadly nightshade, black lotus, blackroot dust. The powder in this pouch was none of these, it was sweet tasting and colourless, and in small doses was a harmless sleep agent.

Raistlin made to empty the small bag into the wine. There was enough in there that, even diluted, a single glass would be enough to ensure the drinker never woke up. His hands shook as another spasm gripped him, almost scattering the fine powder over the tabletop.

A slender, long-fingered hand closed over his own, holding it steady. Dalamar took the bag himself and emptied it into the wine, watching the pale crystals dissolve.

Raistlin sighed. "Will you..." He couldn't finish the sentence, and it had nothing to do with his cough.

The Dark elf shook his head, his hand fingering the hilt of his dagger, eyes closing in quiet acceptance of what he would have to do.

An arrow thudded suddenly into a crossbeam over their heads, and Caramon came stumbling, the green draconian blood covering him already turning to dust. "They're breaking down the front door," he gasped. "Riverwind ordered us back here."

There was a loud crash, but not from the front door, but from the back! "That's not the only place they're breaking in!" Raistlin hissed, turning as the door leading from the kitchen to the back alley broke open. His hand groped for his spell compontent, cursing himself for being caught so unaware.

"Tanis!" the big warrior gasped, running over as the Half-elf staggered through the wrecked door and throwing his arms around him.

"How is everyone?" Tanis demanded.

"So far, so good," Caramon answered, peering around Half-elven and out at the smoke-filled alleyway. "Where is-"

"Sturm's lost; Flint and Tas are across the street, the kender's pinned under a bean. Gilthanas is about two blocks away. He's hurt, not badly, but he couldn't make it any further."

"Welcome, Tanis." Raistlin bit back a cough. "You have come in time to die with us."

The Half-elf looked fromhim to the grim-faced Dalamar to the pitcher and the black pouch beside it. Horrified comprehension dawned. "No, we're not going to die. At least not like this-" he broke off. "Get everyone together."

Caramon ran back into the common room, shouting. The Plainsman was the first one back; he had been standing beside what was left of the bar, firing arrows at the attackers. The others ran in after, smiling in relief at the sight of Tanis.

Raistlin and Dalamar shared a glance. On one hand, they couldn't see how they could get out, no matter what Tanis said, but on the other... well, any hope was better than none.

"Listen!" Tanis' voice was barely audible over the din. "We can try to escape out the back! Only a small force is attacking the inn. The main part of the army isn't in the city yet."

"Someone's after us," Raistlin thought aloud.

The Half-elf nodded. "So it would appear," he agreed reluctantly. "We haven't much time. If we can make it to the hills-"

"Be quiet!" Dalamar held up a hand.

Tanis stopped speaking. The inn had become eerily quiet, even the noise of the besieging draconians was gone. They a new sound reached their ears, the shrieking cry and leathery creaking of an approaching dragon.

Raistlin froze. Riverwind's cry of warning was drowned out by a screaming whine and deafening explosion as the dragon's fiery breath engulfed the inn. The floor trembled as though in the grip of an earthquake and the beans overhead creaked in agony as the building began to collapse in on itself.

The human wizard raised his hands, thinking fast, trying to recall a spell that could stop them from being flattened by the falling debris. It took precious seconds for the spell to form in his mind, and by that time, the overhead beams were starting to groan and bend under the strain. The smaller ones had already snapped and cascades of rubble were already falling through.

"Get out!" Tanis screamed. "The whole place is-"

The beam over their heads groaned one final time, then gave way with an ear-splitting crack. The ground rocked under Raistlin's feet as he raced through the words of the spell, trying to finish it before it was too late _"Bentuk eka sihir kendala berlua aku!"_

He didn't see if the spell worked or not. The floor rocked once more, bucked up like a wild horse, and vanished completely. Raistlin slid down and fell.

The last thing he heard was a grinding crash, as if the world had fallen in on top of them.

* * *

Raistlin swam up to consciousness as if from a deep abyss, slowly coming back to himself.

He lay still, letting his scattered thoughts gather. The shock of the last hour -was it an hour? How long had he been unconscious?- had thrown him off centre, and he gave himself time to regain his footing. The first thing he became aware of was the cold; the surface he was lying on was freezing, and icy water was dripping down from an unknown source and running down the back of his neck. Opening his eyes yielded nothing. It was pitch black, darker than a shuttered room at midnight. This was the dark of being buried alive.

Buried alive...

The memory of his last few waking moments came back: The breaking beam, the floor rocking and giving way, falling... Of course, they were in the basement. And judging by the fact that they hadn't been crushed, his spell had worked, shielding them from the worse of the damage. Or had it? Perhaps he was the only survivor. Raistlin shoved away the thought, and the terror that accompanied it, but the darkness was as silent as it was complete.  
For a moment, Raistlin wished he had Dalamar's senses, the elf didn't know how lucky he was to be able to see in the dark. The human mage groped around on the stone floor for his staff. The floor was soaking, and so, he realised, was he. The cold bit straight through his damp robes and he bit his lip to keep from coughing.

His hand touched something soft, fabric. He ran his hand over the unknown figure, then smiled as his fingers snagged on a smooth sash and the pouches tied to it.

"Dalamar?" Raistlin winced at how thin his voice sounded. "Dalamar, wake up." He found the Dark elf's shoulder and shook him, the skin under his hand was warm, and he sighed in relief. "Dalamar-" he broke off, coughing.

"Mmmff-" The Dark elf stirred, then, "Raistlin?"

The human wizard couldn't answer, the spasms still gripping him. He felt a familiar touch on his back, his lover rubbing soothing circles to ease the pain. Raistlin wiped his mouth, swallowing the metallic tang of blood. "Are you hurt?" he asked hoarsely.

"No, I'm fine." The Dark elf's voice was soft. "What about you?"

Raistlin slid closer to Dalamar, letting the warmth of the other's body thaw the cold that seemed to have set into his bones. "Just cold."

"And wet, no doubt." There was a note of wry amusement in the Dark elf's voice.

"Can you tell me where my staff is?" Raistlin asked. "It's too dark for my eyes to see anything."

There was a moment's silence, then, "Yes, it's over to your right, about three meters away."

Raistlin crawled blindly over, hands sifting through several inches of water. Finally, his fingers touched the magically warm wood of the Staff of Magius.

_"Shirak."_ The light of the staff was blinding after this long in the dark. Raistlin blinked and rubbed his stinging eyes.

He had been right, they _were_ in the basement of the inn. Barrels and casks of wine and ale were scattered around, some split open and their contents leaking to mingle with the water dripping from the mass of rubble blocking the ceiling. One of the roof beams was lying diagonally across the room, resting on the field of force he had called up to protect them.

Dalamar was sitting close to the far wall, looking slightly dazzled by the sudden light. Raistlin made his way back and huddled close, sharing body heat.

One by one, the other companions started to wake up. None were seriously hurt, and Goldmoon treated what wounds they had, but things hardly looked hopeful. None of them had any idea how long they'd been unconscious or what was going on outside; and more than that, no one had any idea how to escape. It was, as Riverwind said, a matter of what killed them first, suffocation, drowning, cold, or the inn falling down on them.

"We could shout for help," Tika suggested, her voice wavering.

"Add draconians to the list, then," Dalamar snapped. He and Raistlin were sitting in the driest part of the cellar they could find, staying close together as much for comfort as warmth.

Caramon shot the Dark elf an ugly look and walked over to comfort the former barmaid. Tanis scowled at Dalamar. "You're the last one to criticise anyone! If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Dalamar narrowed his eyes. "As far as I know it wasn't my idea to come to this cursed place, but do you honestly think it would have changed anything if we had gone somewhere else? They were after us, and would have followed us had we decided to travel to Palanthas!"

Half-elven sighed and let the matter drop, then they all froze as voice filtered down to them. Draconian voices.

"I tell you, this is a waste of time." Another voice, goblin. "These no one alive in this mess."

"Tell that to the Dragon Highlord, you miserable dog-eaters," the draconian snarled. "I'm sure his lordship would be very interested in your opinion. Or rather, his dragon will be interested. You have your orders, now dig."

There was a scraping noise, and the sounds of rocks being moved away. Dirt and ash filtered through the cracks in the ceiling.

"As I said," Dalamar sighed, "they were after us."

The goblins continued to chatter and complain as they dug their way down, getting louder all the time. Grimly, Raistlin wondered who this new Dragon Highlord was. Well, if things went on this way they would probably end up meeting him in person.

As the sounds of digging grew closer, the companions quietly armed themselves. Raistlin flicked through his spellbook, grateful that the oiled leather of his backpack had kept it dry. He was tired and cold, but he'd be able to get a few spells off before it finished him.

He glanced over to check on Dalamar. The Dark elf was looking up at where the goblin's were digging, frowing thoughtfully. He saw Raistlin looking at him and leant in close to whisper in his ear, "When they break through and the others attack, try to get out. The way the goblins are digging is weakening most of the structure. If we can blow a hole through a weak spot, we've got a chance to get away. I know places to hide if we can reach the slums."

Raistlin nodded; it meant leaving the others, but if the alternative was death-

A shriek cut through Raistlin's thoughts, followed by screams from the goblins and draconians, then another cry, like one an attacking eagle might make, only a hundred times as loud, and a tearing sound as though someone or something was being ripped limb from limb.

"What is that?" Caramon gasped. "It isn't a dragon. It sounds like- like some gigantic bird of prey!"

"Whatever it is, it's tearing the draconians to shreds!" Goldmoon whispered.

Raistlin looked over at Dalamar, who was staring upwards, looking rather pale.

The screams died, and from above them came the unmistakable sound of digging, rocks being lifted and thrown aside like so many clods of dirt.

"It's eaten the draconians and now it's after us!" Caramon groaned, drawing his sword.

Before anyone could speak further, there was a rending crack and a huge clawed foot punched through the ceiling, its talons covered in blood and dirt.

Dalamar stared in shock. "A griffon!" he exclaimed.

"What!" Tanis shouted, ducking down behind a small pile of debris as broken bricks rained down.

Raistlin grabbed the Dark elf's shoulder and pulled him back as the great claw slowly withdrew. "Are you certain?"

Dalamar nodded, staring at the hole the creature had punched through the ceiling. "I saw them many times in Silvanesti, but what in the Abyss are they doing here?"

Half-elve stared at him. "Griffons?" At the Dark elf's nod, he looked back up at the hole. "Alhana," he breathed, sounding shocked.

The Dark elf's eyes widened. "What?" he hissed softly.

"It has to be," Tanis whispered.

Dalamar was completely incredulous. "Alhana? Alhana _Starbreeze?" _He looked at Half-elven again, who nodded. _"Here?"_

"She was looking for mercenaries, it's a long story. She was in the Halls of Justice when we were." He sent the Dark elf an ugly look, reminding him whose fault it was that they'd been there in the first place.

The Dark elf didn't seem to notice. Raistlin touched his shoulder. "Alhana Starbreeze? The Silvanesti princess?"

Dalamar nodded, then started to smile bitterly. "Clearly, the Dragonarmies double-crossed her as them did everybody else. Why else would she need mercenaries?" he laughed hoarsely. "Why else would she need _us?_ Oh, this is so pricelessly ironic."

"How so?"

All humour fled the Dark elf's face, although his lip remained curled. "She was the one who exiled me, after all."

* * *

Dalamar crawled out of the hole first, before kneeling down and helping Raistlin climb through. The human mage gasped in the ash-filled air, coughed once, and brushed his dirty white hair out of his face. The sky seemed to be on fire. Clouds had gathered and reflected the flames now consuming Tarsis, glowing scarlet and orange like a permanent sunset.

However, it was not the sky that drew Raistlin's attention, but the creatures now surrounding them. He had known of griffons before, had read about them in books and heard about them from Dalamar; but like with the dragons, it was something else entirely seeing them in the flesh. They larger than carthorses, with claws and beaks sharp enough to rip through even dragon scales. Their hawk eyes glittered in the light of the fire.

Dalamar wasn't even looking at the creatures, his eyes locking on a slender figure standing beside them. Once again, like yesterday, Raistlin knew the Dark elf was taking refuge in anger; the sight of the one who had exiled him must be truly painful.

_"Muralasa,"_ he spat, wiping dirt off his face.

The elfwoman turned, and the Raistlin stared.

'Princess of the Night', Dalamar had called her, and no matter how mockingly, the description was perfect for one so ethereal. She was pale, as immortally young as Laurana, and with skin white as Solinari. Her eyes were a strange translucent violet, like cut amethysts, and her hair was as black as the Dalamar's own. Even Raistlin had to admit she was incredibly beautiful.

Right now however, those beautiful features were twisted in outrage, and her purple eyes were narrowed at Dalamar. "You!"

Compared with Alhana, the Dark elf looked ridiculous; he was filthy from the cellar, his black robes tattered and sodden, and the ash from the burning city had streaked his face and hair grey. Yet, at the same time, he looked far more real that the princess. Raistlin felt that if he reached out to touch her, she would always be out of reach, as insubstantial as a the clouds and distant as the stars. But Dalamar wouldn't be, and if Raistlin was to reach out to him, he would be there, solid and warm and far more real than Alhana, for all her beauty.

"Me," he sneered.

Starbreeze turned to Tanis, "Is this the company you keep, Tanis Half-elven?" Her musical voice was discordant with outrage.

The Half-elf sighed and rubbed his forehead, now no doubt severely regretting taking the two mages along. "Not willingly," he answered.

Raistlin snorted, "As if you wouldn't be dead twice over without us."

Alhana glanced up at the sky, where, high above, the red dragons were still circling. "We have no time," she said coldly. "You-" she pointed at Dalamar "-are staying here. The rest of you are coming with me."

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other. Perhaps it was the sheer idiocy of the statement, or the situation, or maybe it was simply that the day had been impossible from the beginning, or that the tension needed to escape somehow, but the reaction was the same. The two mages burst out laughing.

The human rested his head on the smooth surface of his staff, still snickering. _"My lady,"_ he whispered mockingly, "if you think that I am going _anywhere_ without him..." He didn't finish, just grinned into the warm wood.

The elfwoman looked stunned- probably she wasn't used to being laughed at- then torn. "I can't take him-" she started.

"You're talking about going to Silvanesti, aren't you?" Dalamar interrupted flatly. He was no longer laughing.

The princess didn't answer, but her silence and her expression of rage was information enough.

"That's impossible!" Tanis stated. "We need to meet our friends. Take us to the hills. We can't go to Silvanesti, there's too much at stake! If we can find these Dragon orbs, we have a chance to destroy these foul creatures and end this war. _Then _we can go to Silvanesti."

Dragon orbs? Raistlin's eyes narrowed; this was something he hadn't thought of, but at the same time, it made sense. He had heard of the Dragon orbs, and if Tanis seemed to think there were still at least one still in existence... well, such an artefact would be ideal to end this war.

Almost as if prompted by those thoughts, the whispers, which had been curiously quiet up to this point, started again. Not only would these Dragon orbs be central to ending the war, they themselves held the keys to power, _if_ one could control them.

Raistlin bit his lip, understanding what the whispers meant by those words. He could. He had the control, the power to command such an artefact.

Resigning himself to taking that risk, Raistlin forced himself back to the present just as Alhana retorted to Tanis' words, "_Now_ we are going to Silvanesti, you have no choice in the matter, Half-elven. My griffons obey my command and mine alone. They would tear you apart, as they did those dragonmen, if I gave the command. And I will give it, if you do not obey." Her eyes went to Dalamar, making it quite clear what she meant.

Raistlin had had enough; if this woman didn't want their help, fine, they'd take their chances with the Dragonarmies and the rest of them could go straight to the Abyss for all he cared. "Come on," he hissed at his friend disgustedly. "We're going."

The Dark elf nodded, eyes still flashing with anger.

They hadn't gone more than a few feet before there was a shout, "Stop!"

The human mage turned, scowling balefully at Alhana. "You must come with us," she insisted.

"I am going nowhere without him, and if you think _threatening_ us will-"

"You will be well-rewarded," the elfwoman interrupted.

Raistlin snorted, then coughed at he inhaled a mouthful of smoke. "You can keep your gold and jewels-" he spat.

"You seek the Dragon orbs," she put in. "I know where one in located. It is in Silvanesti."

The human's furious words died on his tongue. A Dragon orb... He didn't need the whispers in order to be tempted. "That is why you need us," he hissed. "Only magic-users can know how to command a dragon orb."

"That is why I need _you_," Alhana corrected. "I will not bring an exile into elven lands."

Raistlin hesitated. It was so unbelievingly tempting. A dragon orb... yet, to be forced to leave Dalamar behind, what kind of a trade was that? The whispers were of the opinion that it was a very good trade indeed. A Dragon orb, and all the power that promised, wasn't that worth leaving the Dark elf behind? A Dark elf, more to the point, who had told him he could never trust him?

Raistlin ran a hand over his face feeling unbearably torn, then a very different voice echoed in his mind: _"Look for me. When this is over... look for me there... Go without fear, I will be there to meet you."_ Dalamar had been prepared to brave death for him, and who would he be to spit on that?

"Take the others and leave," he said flatly, ignoring the shrieks of the whispers. "I am going nowhere without Dalamar." He turned away, feeling his stomach lurch. Had he done the right thing? What was the trade off of this choice going to be?

His lover's hand closed on his shoulder, a tender look in the elf's grey eyes. Raistlin forced a smile and sighed, resigning himself. He had made his choice.

Judging by the noise behind them, that choice had had quite an impact. He could hear Tanis and Caramon arguing.

"Thank you," Dalamar said softly. The human mage nodded bitterly. A Dragon orb. What a loss. But then, the way she was acting, Alhana would probably not have let them take it from Silvanesti. "Although..." the Dark elf broke off and looked back over his shoulder.

Raistlin followed his gaze, and saw Alhana glaring at them, while the others alternated between scowling at her, and at them. The finally, Alhana gave in. Clearly, the fear of failing her people overthrew her fear of breaking such a long held taboo. "Very well," she snarled at the two mages through gritted teeth. "You can both come. But understand that if you do anything to betray us, my griffons will destroy you."

The elven wizard scowled back, not at all impressed, but when she turned away, he sighed and lowered his head. Raistlin touched the back of his neck. "This is going to be hard for you, isn't it?" _Are you sure you should go?_ hung in the air, but Raistlin simply couldn't say it. He couldn't have stood it if Dalamar had said no.

As if in answer, Dalamar nodded slowly, smiling bitterly. "Just imagine how I was like in Qualinesti and make it three times as bad." He ran his fingers through his hair, shivering. "I'll try not to take it out on you this time, this is hardly your fault and if she's telling the truth-" He glanced over at Alhana" -which I don't doubt she is, then we have to go with her." Clearly, Raistlin hadn't been the only one tempted by the prize. Rather than feeling threatened by this, Raistlin instead felt a rush of tender emotion towards Dalamar. How alike they were...

Raistlin kissed the side of his face. "I'll be there," he promised, and meant it with all his heart.

_Please review, I write better with reviews._

_Skull Bearer._


	4. To Dread

_If you can actually believe that I planned to fit most of this in the last chapter... -shakes head-_

_Spookail: -blushes-_

_Myar: -hugs- Glad you enjoyed it. Go on MSN more, I'm missing our chats._

_DracoQueen22: You know, I'm now having problems reading the books without having the overwhelming urge to make notes in the margins..._

_Kalpana Silverstar: Cheers!_

_Cory: That's next chapter, this chapter just sets the scene._

_Dalamar Nightson: I was trying to make it different, but let's face it, there are only so many reasons an exile would be allowed into elven lands. I'm glad you liked the earlier angst, it was fun to write._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Four - To Dread

_Oh, what you do to me  
No one knows  
-No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age_

Riding a griffon was unlike anything Dalamar could remember, save perhaps the pegasi of Darken Wood. There were no bridles or riding gear, and instead of the familiar rocking motion of riding a horse, he felt a strange jerking every time the huge wings beat down. Raistlin clearly found the sensation disconcerting, for he hung on tightly to Dalamar's waist, as if afraid he was going to slip off. The two mages were riding one griffon, Goldmoon, Riverwind and Tika were on a second, and Caramon had joined Tanis and Alhana on the third, the only one which looked strong enough the bear all three of them.

Raistlin was quite clearly exhausted, and Dalamar wished he'd let his lover get on in front, he could have rested on the griffon's neck and got some sleep. As it was, the human mage would doze off periodically, then wake up almost at once, clinging to him so hard it was almost painful. The Dark elf reached back and touched the young mage's white hair reassuringly. "It's all right," he tried to calm him. "They wouldn't let you fall-" Dalamar broke off, staring over Raistlin's shoulder. "Oh Nuitari..."

Dragons, a whole flight of the terrible creatures, all following them. Nuitari's dark light glinted off their scales and horns, enough for the Dark elf to realise these were nothing like the beasts they had seen before. Their markings, the way they flew, their very scales were different, glimmering blue rather than red in the starlight. Worse, they were much, much faster than the red dragons that had attacked Tarsis. Those had been huge, heavy and almost cumbersome in flight. This blue breed were different; they were slender and frighteningly swift, easily keeping pace with the smaller griffons. Raistlin had seen them too. Although he lacked Dalamar's keen eyes and couldn't see Nuitari, the dragons were easy to pick out; they blotted out the stars.

Nor were they the only one to have seen them; Caramon was shouting at Goldmoon and Riverwind, pointing at the following dragons.

The Dark elf tore his eyes from sight of their pursuers, there was nothing they could do, he didn't know if the griffons could go faster and wouldn't know how to spur them on if they could. His hand closed on Raistlin's where it clutched his waist and pulled the human mage closer until they were pressed up against each other, as much to share warmth as comfort, for the night was bitterly cold.

* * *

The cold night was followed by an equally cold day and the continued sight of the blue dragons on the horizon. Despite the clearer light of the sun, they seemed no closer than the night before, and Dalamar hoped they had a chance to leave the swift-winged creatures behind. That hope was about all that was bearable about the day. Perhaps it was the desperation, or that they had been riding for hours already, but the cold seemed even more biting than before. The wind cut straight through the Dalamar's thick winter cloak and woolen robes, and he was shaking even before the sun had risen clear of the horizon. Behind him, Raistlin was coughing uncontrollably. Again, he wished he'd had the sense to have Raistlin climb on in front, he would have been able to look after him.

Everything about the ride was crushingly exhausting: He hadn't slept since the night before last, the fear of their pursuers was draining, and the continued effort of riding the griffon sent aches through him until he wanted simply to scream from the sheer agony of it. His arms were weak with the effort of holding onto his mount's neck, his legs chafed and sore from riding without a saddle, his hands frozen from the icy air. The only mercy was that the misery of their present condition kept him from dwelling on anything else, particularly their destination.

Raistlin finally fell asleep around midday, exhaustion overcoming fear at long last, and lay slumped against Dalamar's back. Although the shared warmth was welcomed, the weight of the human mage made his back ache after a while. By the time the griffons had managed to leave the dragons behind and circle down to land outside a small cave in a low series of hills, Dalamar was almost too sore to climb from his mount. He half slipped, half fell off, every muscle aching and promising even worse come morning.

Raistlin slid off after him with a little more grace, despite being still mostly asleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked around blearily, only slightly better off than the Dark elf. Dalamar forced himself upright, stretching his aching limbs before following Tanis and the others inside the cave.

The inside was just as dismal as the outside, damp and dank, and it was only with the aid of some dead wood that they managed to get a fire started. The brush was damp, and sent up a lot of smoke to begin with, but for once the Dark elf was grateful for the freezing wind, for it blew the smoke inside the cave instead of out where the dragons might have seen it. He and Raistlin were sitting behind a rocky outcropping in the cave wall, further away from the flames but out of the wind. They were huddled together on their bedroll, the blankets thrown over themselves to keep out the ever-present chill.

Dalamar sighed, and snuggled deeper in the nest of blankets and cloaks that had made for themselves feeling the warmth of the fire sink into his bones banishing the cold that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there. . He kept his hands beneath the blankets, occasionally flexing them as the heat sent needles prickling through the frozen flesh. Dalamar yawned, and lent back against the smooth wall of the cave, the stresses and exhaustion of the last two days catching up with him. Without being conscious of it, his eyes slowly drifted closed.

"Dalamar?" Raistlin's voice was soft.

Dalamar opened one eye, wondering if he had dozed off.

"Are you asleep?"

Dalamar smiled, "Not any more," he yawned, "What is it?"

Raistlin paused, and Dalamar recognised the expression Raistlin usually wore when he was trying to be tactful- not one of his lover's strong points. Considering the circumstances, he could guess what he wanted. He raised a hand to stop whatever Raistlin was attempting. "You want to know about Silvanesti."

Raistlin nodded, and leant close to him. " I understand if you don't want to talk, the others have already tried to question Starbreeze, but apparently she wants us to come in completely ignorant." He scowled at the cave opening and Dalamar realised Alhana wasn't there. She must have been outraged at all the question.

Dalamar rubbed his eyes and sighed. He might as well talk; to see the place in words now might make it less painful to see in truth later, and besides, Raistlin was right, better that go in knowing something of the land. He sighed, forcing his mind back through the mental barrier he had erected around his memories. He didn't dare examine them too closely, to do that would be to revisit the dull agony of exile he'd been able to suppress for so long.

Forcibly dragging himself out of his reverie, the Dark elf rubbed the side of his face. "What do you want to know?"

"The princess mentioned that the Dragon orb was kept in the Tower of the Stars." Raistlin kept his voice pitched low so as not to attract anyone's attention. "Start with that."

The human mage hadn't been quiet enough though, both Tanis and Riverwind had overheard. The two warriors had clearly put aside their hatred for the Dark elf and were listening intently. For a moment, Dalamar toyed with the idea of making something up that would send the pair on a wild-goose chase, then decided against it. He was just too tired and miserable to care, and besides, as his lover often commented, they might need the two idiots.

Instead, he blocked their presence from his mind and focused on Raistlin. "I don't know much about the Tower," he started, remembering the few times he had seen it as more than a feature on the horizon. "But it will hardly be difficult to find, seeing as it's one of the biggest buildings in Silvanost." Even speaking the name sent a shudder of remembered pain through him. "It's made of white marble and it stands in the centre of the city." he shrugged, there really wasn't much he could say, "A lot like the Tower of the Sun, really."

"And what about inside?" Tanis asked.

Dalamar sent the Half-elf a poisonous glower, but answered the question, "I don't really know, I was never allowed past the servant's quarters." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I was from House Servitor after all." He sent Raistlin a thin smile. "I could give you a blow-by-blow account of the kitchens in half the city, if you'd like."

The human mage smiled back, probably more pleased that he had made a joke than of the joke itself. "Why would that be? Did you like cooking back then?"

Dalamar chuckled despite himself. He had never liked cooking and never would. "That implies I had a choice on the subject!"

Raistlin looked at him oddly. "No choice? Who decided for you?"

The Dark elf couldn't withhold a smirk at the memory, glad that the conversation was moving into less painful topics, to the things he hadn't minded leaving behind. "Oh, the steward. A puffed-up, pompous idiot by the name of Elfid. Rather like Brightblade, now that I think of it." Dalamar grinned at Tanis who looked away with a sigh.

"And, like the knight, he hated you?" Raistlin put in, he wasn't smiling.

Dalamar nodded. A pity that the elves had left Silvanost to the protection of Lorac and the Dragon orb, he would have liked to take the time to teach _Lord_ Elfid the same lesson he had taught to Sturm in Tarsis. "Yes, which of course meant I had to do all the worse jobs,"

"-For the worse pay," Raistlin finished with a sigh.

The Dark elf shrugged idly. "Oh, I wasn't paid. None of us were."

Raistlin's eyes darkened, staring at him strangely. Half-elven and the others were also looking at him with very odd expression. A little disturbed by all the attention, Dalamar looked questioningly at his lover. "You weren't paid? How did they expect you to survive?" Raistlin demanded softly.

Dalamar sighed, relieved. So that was it, he simply hadn't made it clear. "Oh that was taken care of by our employers; food, lodging, that sort of thing," he answered off-handedly, waving off the point.

Raistlin was still frowning, confusion shifting to suspicion. "But you weren't actually paid? No actual steel, nor any chance to advance yourself?"

Dalamar, wondering why Raistlin was making so much of this, shook his head and shrugged.

The silence was even heavier now, and even Tanis and the rest were looking at him in astonishment.

The human mage stared hard at him, speaking slowly, "Dalamar, that's slavery."

Dalamar couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. The sheer absurdity of that statement! It was something he might have expected from the ignorant Plainsmen or the idiotic Caramon, but not Raistlin.

Correctly interpreting the Dark elf's reaction, the human mage held up a golden hand, and started ticking off his points on his thin fingers. "You aren't paid; you must to do exactly what your employers tell you; you must to stay in that caste for the rest of your life, with no chance to improve your lot; and if you disobey your orders -or if the foreman doesn't like you- you are sent to do the most unpleasant jobs. All you need is a nice set of whips and no one could tell the difference!" Raistlin's voice, which had been growing steadily louder, suddenly broke off as he started coughing, before forcing down a mouthful of tea with a grimace.

Any retorts Dalamar could think off seemed to have gotten lost on the way to his tongue. He tried a dozen out in his mind but none sounded right. Raistlin was wrong, had to be wrong, but right now he couldn't quite think up an argument to refute his lover's. None of the others spoke either, but Tanis looked slightly stunned and they turned away without another word.

Raistlin glanced again at the mouth of the cave where Alhana had gone to tend to the griffons, then shook his head. "Embodiment of good..." he snorted sarcastically.

* * *

The mood, when Alhana returned, was noticeably chilly. Despite their general hate for Dalamar, the others clearly disliked slavers a lot more. The Dark elf still thought Raistlin was completely mistaken, but he continued to be unable to think up a decent retort.

The princess clearly felt the newfound hostility, but mistook it. "I have told you, I cannot tell you about Silvanost-"

Tanis waved her off, jerking his head in Dalamar's direction. "He told us more than enough." The dark tone to his voice hinted that not all of it had been his liking.

Starbreeze stared furiously at the Dark elf, who rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for a scowling match, and his lover seemed to be doing more than well enough as it was. Alhana dropped her eyes away from the human mage's unearthly gold ones.

Tanis looked from Starbreeze to the two mages, and sighed, changing the subject to the Dragon orb they were going to try to retrieve. Apparently, they had come across a book on the artefacts in the library of Tarsis and had come to the obvious conclusions that such magic would be vital to winning -or even surviving!- the war. Unfortunately, it had been only due to Tasslehoff that they had been able to read the tome at all, and the kender had been unable to tell them where the surviving Dragon orbs were to be found before the attack on Tarsis had separated them. The book was surely still in Tasslehoff's possession.

The Half-elf turned to the two mages. "I was hoping you might know something about them. What are they?"

Dalamar glanced at Raistlin almost without thinking. He had become used to their power difference, he realised sadly. Gone was the time when they would confer before answering, now he, like the others, turned to Raistlin for answers because he thought -rightly!- the younger mage would know more than he did. His lover didn't mean to keep knowledge from him, _most_ of the time at least, but he would still know more because there would be things they would consider unimportant, and that might in the future become much more vital.

Like the Dragon orbs.

This time however, Raistlin turned to someone else for information. He looked at Alhana. "You said there was a Dragon orb in Silvanesti, surely I am not the one to ask."

He didn't look to Dalamar, but the Dark elf didn't take offence, after all, he had pretty much admitted his ignorance of what was in the Tower of the Stars.

"I know little about it," the princess said, startled. "We keep it as a relic of bygone days, more a curiosity than anything else. Who believed humans would once again wake this evil and bring the dragons back to Krynn?"

Dalamar rolled his eyes, wondering if he could possibly have been this arrogant before his two years in Tarsis had beaten it out of him. Probably not. Riverwind snarled at the Silvanesti princess; clearly it irked him that a slaver could put on such airs. "You have no proof that it was humans."

Starbreeze just looked at him, not bothering to waste words. Raistlin ignored the pair of them.

Looking back at his lover, Dalamar saw an odd look on the mage's face. It was an expression he had seen rarely, and only in times of great stress or danger. He had witnessed it in Pax Tharkas, when the young wizard had sealed the door against the banshee, and before that, in Xak Tsaroth when they were escaping from the crumbling city in the lift. It was a cold, dark, dead look, and one that suited Raistlin not at all.

The Red Robe hung his head. His eyes closed and strands of white hair curled around his face, he looked as though he was struggling to remember something long forgotten, or –the Dark elf felt a strange chill- as though he were drawing the memories from an unknown source. Then Raistlin looked up, covering his mouth as a coughing fit racked him. He swallowed a mouthful of his tea to dispel it, and spoke softly.

"The orbs were created during the Third Dragon War, to defend from the depredations of the dragons of Takhisis. The highest of the Order of High Sorcery met together in the greatest of the Towers -the Tower of Palanthas." Raistlin hesitated as the name passed his lips, then continued, "They entered the chamber at the top of the Tower as their moons rose. First those of the White Robes, as Solinari rose, then Lunitari, guiding those of the Red Robes, and finally those of the Black Robes, led by the black disc of Nuitari."

The young wizard paused again, as if wondering how to phrase his next words. "It was one of the only times the three orders had come together under one goal. It would happen only once more, in the Lost Battles. They came together knowing that the evil sweeping the world was intent on destroying all the magic of the world, so that only its own would remain."

Dalamar was probably the only one who saw Raistlin flinch as he spoke, as if someone had brandished a whip at him, and the Dark elf understood perfectly. To destroy the magic... his mind had problems even comprehending the concept, and the idea revolted him to the core.

"And so the Dragon orbs were made, one a night where all three moons were full in the sky."

"Three moons?" Tanis asked, puzzled, and the elven mage fought down the urge to speak. What did the Half-elf think_ he_ followed? The empty sky?

If Raistlin noticed the interruption, he ignored it. "The magic wrought was so powerful that some of the mages didn't survive its making, and those who did were mentally and physically drained. But by morning, it had been done, and the five Dragon orbs were complete. All but one were taken from Palanthas to each of the old Towers of High Sorcery. There they helped rid the world of the Queen of Darkness."

The Red Robe finished his narration, sipping his tea. Dalamar looked at his lover, torn between being impressed and being irritated. Would it have been too much to ask for the human to have leant him whatever books he had learnt that from? It sounded incredibly detailed, especially since all knowledge of the orbs were said to have died in the Lost Battles Raistlin had mentioned. He felt another pang of irritation.

Tanis broke the silence, "What did you mean by three moons?"

The Dark elf would have liked to hit the Half-elf. Of all the pointless things to ask! "Three moons," he answered before his lover could. "One for those of the White Robes, one for the Red-" He indicated Raistlin "-and one for those of the Black." He indicated himself. "Only those sworn to Nuitari can see the black moon."

"Alright," Tanis sighed, then turned back to Raistlin. "But how did you know all of that?"

"I knew," Raistlin said shortly. "I know more than any of you."

Dalamar, who had just been about to inform Half-elven that there were such things as books, had the strange and unwelcome sensation that he was being included in that generalisation. More than that, he had the sinking feeling that Raistlin information had _not_ come from a book.

"I know one more thing," Raistlin added, wrapping a blanket around himself. "As the Dragon orbs were created by the high mages, only the most powerful of my order could use them. It was said that great evil would come to those not strong in magic who tried to command the orbs." The Red Robe sighed; clearly, the task of talking for so long -especially after the endless ride- was too much for him. Rolling over onto their bedroll, he curled up and leant his head in Dalamar, falling asleep almost instantly.

The Dark elf, on the other hand, felt little inclination to sleep, despite his earlier exhaustion. He looked up as Alhana walked over. The elfwoman ignored him, staring down at Raistlin. Reflexively, Dalamar caught hold of the human mage's shoulder, glowering up at the pricess.

"Strong in the magic!" She whispered Raistlin's words fearfully. "My father."

"You think he tried to use the orb?" Dalamar blinked as the obvious conclusion hit him.

Alhana ignored him. "He said he alone could fight the evil and keep it from our land," she moaned. "He must have meant-" She knelt down beside the sleeping wizard, reaching over to shake him. "Wake him!" she commanded, as though the Dark elf was still one of her subjects.

_One of her slaves,_ Raistlin's voice echoed in his mind.

He snatched hold of her hand, feeling the fine bones of her wrist twist in his grasp. "Go to the Abyss!" he snarled, shoving her back.

For once, Tanis didn't come to her defence, firmly taking her by the hand and leading her out of the cave to talk in privacy. Caramon followed.

Ignoring them, he looked back down at his lover, who had slept soundly through the whole episode. Idly, he carded his fingers through the human's white hair. Gazing at the sleeping mage, Dalamar sighed. '_What is it about you, Raistlin Majere,'_ he thought sadly, _'that means you have to hide things like this?'_

Why couldn't he talk? _Why wouldn't_ _he talk?_ Could it have been that he was afraid what Dalamar would think of him, the way he had kept the pain of his past secret? Could it be that Raistlin, like him, could simply not trust anyone with the information? It would explain why he was always so angry when the Dark elf questioned him. After all, he of all people could understand. But then, it didn't explain why Raistlin seemed so certain that the knowledge would do more harm to Dalamar himself. But why? The Dark elf shook his head sadly. Why keep it quiet when the silence was hurting more than anything else ever could? Why not speak? Whatever the human was hiding they would cope with, together, as they always did. So why didn't he break the silence that hung over them like a pall. And why did Dalamar feel that if the silence weren't broken, that things would be immeasurably worse for both of them?

Sighing again, this time in defeat, the Dark elf lant back against the cave wall, one hand on Raistlin's hair, the other holding his hand. Without realising it, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The morning came too early for Dalamar. Still worn out from the previous day's ride and the emotionally charged night, it was an effort to rise and once they had mounted the griffons, he didn't even spare a glance to see if the dragons were following, simply falling asleep with his head resting on Raistlin's back.

When he awoke, it was late afternoon and the pursuing dragons were little more than specks on the horizon. Either the griffons were too fast for them, or the blue beasts had other reasons to keep away. Looking down, Dalamar could guess at one of them. They were approaching Silvanesti and the sight of the glittering river Thon-Thalas made him feel as though he had been stabbed. The panic and dread of the previous day had kept the thought of their destination at bay, but the sight of the Lord's River drove it home again.

The Dark elf closed his eyes and leant against Raistlin. The human mage stirred and one hand tightened over Dalamar's. "I'm here," he murmured under the whistle of the wind.

The elven wizard leant his head on his companion's shoulder and looked over at the thick forest they were approaching. Yes, Raistlin was there, as he had promised, but there was a deeper vow within his soul, one that promised pain the moment he set foot in his old, lost home.

Even here, far above the land, it felt as though an iron hand closed around his heart. Each sight dealt a dagger-sharp stab of pain. It hurt now, it would hurt later. Nothing had prepared him for this, fragmented memories and shards of thought raking his mind the way they hadn't since Tarsis had frozen them over. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking, and holding Raistlin far too tightly, but didn't seem to be able to stop as the repressed memories crashed over him. It wasn't any particular moment, but a sensation present in every moment, the underlying, ever-present sense of belonging and of home that linked every elf with their homeland. That link had been broken when Dalamar had been exiled. The two years in Tarsis had dulled the pain, but it had never stopped hurting completely. Now the ice had shattered and he was bleeding inside.

Raistlin was stroking his hair, whispering nonsense words of comfort that the Dark elf couldn't even hear through the howl of pain and desolation and loss.

It would pass, that Dalamar knew, but the knowledge was bitter. When they landed, the pain would vanish, only to return tenfold when they left. He felt as he had in Darken Wood, when he had had believed the spectres were about to kill Raistlin. The knowledge that something dear, sweet and beloved to him was about to be ripped away forever rising up to drown him in despair.

He could never remember the first few weeks of his exile. Now he knew why.

* * *

The griffons started losing height just before crossing the Thon-Thalas, but Dalamar couldn't begin to care. He stared dully at the Tower of the Stars through eyes fogged with tears, feeling another envenomed dart lodge within his heart at the sight. Another and another until everything hurt inside and he was surprised he didn't splinter and fall apart at the seams. Surprised, and disappointed.

His attention was drawn out of his own misery as Raistlin stirred. The human mage had been silent, holding and comforting his companion as best he could given their positions, but now he spoke. "There's no sign of a battle," he remarked, staring at the unmarked trees and towers of Silvanost.

Perhaps it would have hurt less had Silvanesti itself been burnt to the ground as Solace had been, if there had been nothing left for him to recognise. The unmarked buildings and forest just made everything hurt even more, particularly since there was a chance they had come all this way for nothing. After all, if the elven nation had not been invaded, what was the chance Lorac was going to let them -an exile and a human- have their Dragon orb? Dalamar would have laughed at the very idea, had he been able to remember how to do it. As it was, he just watched as the treetops drew closer, peripherally aware of Alhana shouting at the griffons, ordering them to take them to the Tower.

The griffons ignored her, circling lower, and finally landing on the far bank of the river. Raistlin slid off first, prompting Dalamar to get down, the Dark elf too heartsick to do anything but obey.

He had expected a surcease of the pain when he stood on the ground, that or being smitten to ashes by some angered deity. But neither happened. The ground was hard under his feet, the sight of the wood sickeningly familiar and distant at once, as though he was yearning for something he had never had. Yet underneath all that, beneath the layers of bone-deep hurt, there was the faint undercurrent of something far more familiar. The feeling of danger.

Normally, the sensation would have made him more alert, made him draw his dagger or reach for his spell components. As it was, he stared dully over the river towards the far bank, unable to care one way or another.

A soft touch on his cheek made him turn, and he looked over at Raistlin. The human mage's golden eyes were locked with his, keeping his gaze until the exile felt as though he was drowning in hourglass shadows. Then his lover pulled him close, slid his thin arms around the Dark elf's trembling frame, and held him close.

Dalamar let himself be held, not reacting for long moments. Then, slowly, he leant his head against Raistlin's shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweet spices and sweeter decay that clung to his red robes. This was familiarity of a difference sort, yet at once the same. The life he had built in the last ten years had been supported as much by his relationship with Raistlin as it had been by the magic, the loss of the exile swallowed up by the joy he had found with the human mage.

Closing his eyes, the Dark elf let out his breath with a low sigh, pushing out his pain and loss with it. Walls came up to lock them out, reinforced with strength of will. This wasn't the time to break down. They would get through this, find the Dragon orb, and leave.

And when they were far enough away, they would find somewhere quiet, away from the others, for him to cry out his pain in Raistlin's arms.

_Skull Bearer._


	5. To Die For

_Tsukiyo no Yume : I always saw the elven exile as something unbearably painful, so that's how I write it, don't worry though, Dalamar won't have any time to angst in this chapter, he'll be too busy being terrified._

_Dalamar Nightson: -hits self over head- D'oh! I hate it when I do that. Thanks for pointing it out. Glad you liked it anyway. Please tell me if I have Dalamar IC in this._

_Cory: Thanks, I came to thank conclusion after several long discussions with Chetwynd, it made sense. PS, did you get your name from Wizard's Conclave?_

_Ses: Hmm... true. That's very true. Food for thought. Bloody caste system..._

_Kalpana Silverstar: I hope you still think that after reading this! It was incredibly hard to write._

_Dracoqueen22: yeah, Dalamar needs hugs, especially after what I'm planning for him... but then again, so will Raistlin. It's all downhill from here folks._

_Although I quote Queens of the Stone Age here, I thoroughly recommend you all download Alhanna Myles' song 'Black Velvet'. If there ever was a Raistlin/Dalamar song, this is it._

_This is the Silvanesti Nightmare from Dalamar's POV; the next chapter will overlap some of this one and show Raistlin's. It's rather different from the canon version._

_Um, this chapter is rated R because Silvanesti is a very, very scary place._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Five - To Die For

_And I realize you're mine  
Indeed a fool of mine  
-No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age._

The sun was setting by the time the group prepared to set out. The griffons had refused to carry them further, ignoring Alhana's commands, until the companions had given up, unloaded their supplies, and watched their mounts fly away.

Dalamar gazed out over the sparkling stretch of water that was the Lord's River, remembering the last time he had seen it, although, he hadn't actually seen it. He'd been blindfolded, bound, and gagged when he had been dragged out of Silvanesti to be unceremoniously dumped on the plains bordering the forest. The memories were thrown back as quickly as they had re-surfaced. Not now, not yet; it hurt too much.

"I thought you said your people fled because they were under siege?" Tanis looked at Alhana.

"If this land is under the control of dragons, I'm a gully dwarf," Caramon snorted.

As strange as it was, the oaf did have a point, the Dark elf conceded. There was no sign that Silvanesti had _ever_ been attacked, never mind that it was under continued siege.

"We were!" Starbreeze protested. "Dragons filled the skies -as in Tarsis! The dragonmen entered our beloved woods, burning, destroying..." Her voice wavered and fell silent. Dalamar flinched.

Caramon's snort of 'Snipe hunt!' didn't convince him. Something was seriously wrong there. Alhana had been desperate to get aid, so desperate that she broke the ages-old taboo of banishment. It had been different in Qualinesti; he had not been from there. But to allow a Dark elf back into the very lands from which he had been banished... That would mean a terrible emergency. Still, there was no sign of anything wrong, none, save a slow crawling dread that had absolutely nothing to do with his personal misery.

He glanced back to Raistlin. The human mage didn't seem to have heard the conversation, staring intently at the trees across the water. Dalamar walked to his side and touched him on the arm. Raistlin visibly jumped; he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the Dark elf approach. His lips twitched in a failed smile. "What is it?"

Dalamar followed his lover's gaze, biting down a fresh swell of pain at the sight of the swaying aspens. "You tell me." His voice was tight. "What do you see?"

Raistlin hesitated, then leant in closer, careful not to be overheard. "I cannot say, but we'll all find out soon enough. There's something... something terribly wrong here, great magic gone wild. I see... You don't want to know what I see."

The Dark elf looked from his lover, to the forest, to the rest of the group. Tika and Caramon were huddled together –clearly despite his words, the big man was worried- but the Silvanesti princess seemed delighted. "Tanis!" she gasped, as excited as a child at Yuletide. "Maybe it worked! Maybe my father defeated them, and we can come home! We have to cross the river and find out! Come! The ferry landing is just down around the bend-"

Dalamar watched her run down the bank, then glanced back at his lover, feeling the cold clutch of fear around his heart. "Raistlin-"

Raistlin hushed him, nodding over at Tanis, who was coming their way. "What is it?" The Half-elf asked, joining them in staring across the water. "What do you sense?"

"Nothing," Raistlin lied.

"Nothing?" Tanis was disbelieving.

The Red Robe shook his head, not even deigning to look at Half-elven.

Tanis didn't look fooled for a moment, but didn't press for more; instead, he asked, "Suppose Lorac, the elfking, tried to use the Dragon orb, what would happen?" The chill sensation moved to Dalamar spine, and he fought down the urge to shiver.

"Do you think that is possible?" Raistlin probed. No doubt he already knew the answer, he himself had suspicions enough, but how much the half-elf knew?

"Yes," Tanis answered. "From what little Alhana told me, during the Tests in the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar, a Dragon orb spoke to Lorac, asking him to rescue it from the impending disaster."

"And he did so?" Dalamar's voice was sharper than he meant to.

Half-elven glanced at him; probably he had forgotten the Dark elf was there. "Yes, he brought it to Silvanesti."

Raistlin's eyes seemed to be abnormally bright, shining in the dying light like twin mirrors. He barely seemed to be listening to the conversation. "So this is the Dragon orb of Istar," he breathed longingly, once again seeming to turn inward as if he would find answers there. And perhaps he did. Raistlin closed his eyes and smiled, a small, secret smile that drove home just how much the human was keeping hidden. Then he opened them again, and the strange sheen was gone. He looked back at Tanis, turning away from the far shore for the first time. "I know nothing about Dragon orbs except what I told you. But I know this, half-elf: none of us will come out of Silvanesti unscathed, if we come out at all."

Dalamar felt his stomach lurch. It was not what Raistlin said, but what was hidden between the words, as if there had been some secret message that he had, in a subconscious way, understood. It was not the threat of death, but something difference, something colder and crueller and infinitely more painful. He gritted his teeth and tried to push the emotions away.

"What do you mean?" Tanis demanded. "What danger is there?"

Raistlin looked away. "What does it matter what danger I see?" he hissed. "We must enter Silvanesti. You know it as well as I do. Or will you forgo the chance to find a Dragon orb?"

"But if you see danger, tell us!" Half-elven was angry. "We could at least enter prepared-"

"Then prepare." Raistlin's whisper cut neatly through the furious words, and the human mage turned to walk away, inclining his head towards Dalamar to prompt him to follow.

"Raistlin..." Dalamar started, as soon as they were out of earshot, then fell silent. He didn't know what he meant to say. Don't go? Tell me what you see? Tell me what you're hiding?

The Red Robe shook his head, answering Dalamar's unspoken question. "I cannot tell you, because I don't know what lies in there myself. We must all go through this," he sighed, and looked at his lover. "But it will be terrible." His hand touched the Dark elf's.

Dalamar stared back over the waters as the last of the sun's rays vanished, turning the river the colour of lead, he was suddenly reminded of Darken Wood. "It's bad enough as it is," he sighed.

* * *

The ferry landing was a place of unearthly silence. There was no noise, no insects chirping, no birds singing, even the water lapping against the boat's keel was soundless. Dalamar felt his skin crawl and he began to understand what Raistlin was sensing. There was something dreadfully wrong, although he couldn't quite work it out.

The landing was much as Dalamar remembered -as it should be, since the Silvanesti changed nothing if they could help it- the ornately carved boat, the fine ropes and pulleys, everything was as it always had been. It was only once they stepped inside the ferry that his fears started to take physical form. The boat's carvings seemed to warp, twisting before the elf's eyes into hideous patterns that mocked everything, even themselves. River water began to seep through the engravings, staining the wood red, as though the very boat was weeping blood.

Dalamar stared down at the water gathering in the boat, the metallic stench of filling his senses. The ferry was visibly decaying before his eyes, the rope worm-eaten and fraying. His mind seemed stuck, unable to think, even to start to imagine an explanation for this. As in a nightmare, he couldn't move, couldn't make a sound, couldn't do anything but watch as the bloody water slowly filled the boat.

The liquid had drifted to ankle-height by the time they reached the far bank. The sight was at once familiar and alien. He knew this place, had lived there for more than eighty years, and he could recognise almost every tree and hillock, but everything was overlaid with a terrible strangeness. It was as though this wasn't Silvanesti at all, but a repulsive chimera that had taken the form of his memories.

He couldn't stop shaking, eyes wide with fear. The night was pitch-black, there were no stars in the empty sky, and even the moons of magic seemed fearful of being seen in this place. Only the river offered light, a ghoulish, eerie glow that spoke of disease and death.

Someone brushed against him and the Dark elf nearly fell over, sudden terror sapping all the strength from his limbs. It was just Raistlin, he realised, seeing the human mage's skin pale beneath his golden pallor, his hourglass eyes dilated.

"Raistlin, your staff." Tanis' voice was barely recognisable, but it echoed loudly in the darkness, as if an unseen voice was mockingly throwing back his words.

_"Shirak." _The Red Robe's command was unsteady, and when Dalamar reached out to touch the human, he felt his lover tremble beneath his robes.

Light filled the crystal atop the staff, but it illuminated little, almost as cold as the fear filling their hearts.

"We must enter the woods," the human mage whispered, seeming petrified at the very thought of it. He looked at Dalamar, a pleading glance, and the elf realised his lover was just as terrified as he was. The fear on the Raistlin's face only amplified his own inexplicable terror, and it was all he could do to fight back the burning desire to run, to leave this cursed place behind forever.

He forced himself to nod, and walked with stiff legs forwards towards the hollow darkness of the elven wood. Each step was harder than the last, bringing with it a fresh surge of dread. Dalamar could barely walk for the trembling in his limbs, and twice his knees buckled under him, unwilling to carry him another step; twice he forced himself to his feet, stumbling after Raistlin.

The human mage looked to be in an even worse state, shaking visibly. The light from his staff glanced off the bones of his face, the darkness pooling in the hollows of his cheeks and eye sockets, until his face took on the appearance of a hideous, gilded skull. Shuddering, Dalamar reached for him, and started back when Raistlin turned, the golden sheen of his eyes almost glowing, his robes flowing around him like liquid blood.

"Dalamar..." The human's voice was his own, but the terror in it only redoubled the Dark elf's own. If Raistlin, who knew more about this place than any of them, was _this_ scared...

The Dark elf forced the syllables past gritted teeth, "Raistlin."

The fear in their voices was overwhelming. Fear of this place, of themselves, of each other. This was beyond anything Dalamar had ever felt. Not even dragonfear could equate to this dread. Somehow, he forced himself to take another step, moving into the shadows of the aspen trees.

Too much, too far. Dalamar collapsed, unable to move, the fear pressing on him like a dead weight, crushing his soul to ashes. The grass moved under him, blind worms seeking flesh, as he finally fainted.

* * *

Dalamar awoke. The fear filling him had vanished, but looking around, he knew where it had gone. It was as though the terror that had paralysed him had warped into the physical forms around them. It would have been better if he couldn't recognise them; had they been twisted beyond all recognition, it would have hurt less. As it was, horror warred with pain and nausea as he stared at the once beautiful trees of Silvanesti.

The melody of the aspens had torn his heart as they had come here, but this was no song. This was screaming, soundless, helpless screaming. The hideously twisted branches waved and clashed as though the tree was desperately trying to find an escape from this tortured existence, the beauty created by House Woodshaper warped into horrors unnameable and soaked in the blood that wept from deep gashes in the tree's trunk. The sweet scent of the aspen was overwhelmed by the stench of decay that seemed to permeate everything. Locking up the unbearable urge to scream with them, Dalamar tore his eyes away.

He was walking, he realised detachedly, in step with the others the others...

The others...

Laurana was with them, and the dwarf and the kender. Even Brightblade. Dalamar could see the knight as clearly as he saw the trees, even as he knew he wasn't there. They were all here, although he knew this to be impossible. They had left the others behind in Tarsis, and Nuitari only knew where they were now. But while they were here, at the same time he knew they were not, as though some vital part of them was missing. Dalamar forced himself to move faster, but it was like running through water. Each step seemed to take an eternity, and his body felt so heavy he imagined the weight would drive his feet through the earth. Still, somehow he reached Raistlin's side. The human mage's face was expressionless, even when he saw Dalamar. His eyes seemed almost too big for his face, glinting in the icy light of his staff, the hourglass pupils swallowing the iris.

Shadows moved and danced mockingly between the trees, the broken edges of movement making him start with horrified anticipation.

A low cry cut through the air, the cry of a wolf, but not that of any wolf that ever ran under the sky.

Dalamar started, and reached for his component pouch, but the sound died before he could shape a spell. The moment he lowered his hands, another voice took up the cry, the screaming, wretched yowl of a cat. Again, he tensed for an attack, only for the sound to cease the second he touched the hilt of his dagger. Then another, a roar; another, a shriek; more and more, the shadows dancing sharply with each new voice until finally, almost out of his mind with terror, Dalamar turned and ran, grabbing Raistlin and dragging the human after him, away from the nameless horrors he was sure were about to burst from the tree line.

The howls were deafening, wails twisted to sounds both familiar and alien, mixed in with the unmistakable sound of clashing steel, as though an army was tearing through the forest towards them.

Caramon shouted a battle cry, a challenge, and Dalamar turned his head in time to see the big man charge forward to engage foes that were not there, closely followed by Flint and Brightblade, covering the rest of the group as they ran wildly away from the howling, invisible army. No, not invisible. Shades. Shadows and darkness slipping out of the trees to shriek and dart around the warriors, flickering and dancing in the light of Raistlin's staff, drawing ever closer to them.

Dalamar froze; he couldn't move, his muscles stupefied with fear. Desperately, he turned to look at Raistlin, senselessly hoping for reassurance. But the human mage was staring at the unfolding scene with wide eyes, as though he could see the creatures, his lips drawn back in a rictus of pure fear, too lost even to notice the Dark elf. If anything, he was even more terrified, too frightened to tear his eyes away from whatever he was able see that they couldn't.

The sounds grew louder, deafening, drawing closer, yet he was unable to see that was making them, the only sign they were being attacked the shadows of their assailants, dancing along to their unseen casters. Then even louder, a new shriek rent the air: Caramon had been knocked down, and a mass of surreal shadows blurred on top of him, although the wounds it inflicted were all too real. The big man screamed again as the indiscernible beast tore into him. With a roar of rage, Flint lunged at the monster, knocking it off the injured warrior and forcing it to become visible.

Dalamar opened his mouth, although whether it was to shout a spell, scream, or just be sick he didn't know. Beside him, Laurana cried out.

The creature Flint had struck was a new incarnation of the terror: Hairless, rotting, flesh sloughing off and putrifying even as they watched, the huge two-headed wolf lunged at the dwarf, twin jaws snapping, the bloodied pits of its eyes searching its target out blindly. The wound the axe had inflicted peeled off and rotted, revealing the naked, pulsating flesh beneath. Bile filled Dalamar's mouth at the sight of the maggot holes. Impossibly huge mouths, filled with Caramon's blood and its own stinking ichor, opened, and it pounced, swiping at Flint with its claws. No, not claws. Teeth. The warped creature's feet ended in gaping jaws filled with razor sharp fangs. They tore through the dwarf's tough wooden shield as though it was cloth, ripping into his arm. Flint cried out, and the creature screamed back, an impossibly human noise.

Letting go his ruined shield, the dwarf backed away, dropping his axe in horror. What had started as a retreat turned into a rout, and even Brightblade only paused to pull the wounded Caramon to his feet before he too turned and ran, half carrying the big man as the monster turned its sightless heads in their direction.

The Dark elf couldn't move, he couldn't even think, he could only watch as the hideous wolf howled and prowled towards them, fading back into a blur of shadows as it approached. Muscles frozen, completely transfixed as the twisting shade slipped closer, he barely noticed when Raistlin's hand closed on his arm.

"Dalamar!" The human mage's voice was a shriek of terror, but the Silvanesti's mind was stuck. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at his companion. Raistlin looked like he himself felt; features twisted in terror, yanking madly at his arm, barely able to control himself to keep from running as the others had. "Dalamar! Move! Move now!"

Somehow, his voice jolted the Dark elf out of his daze. He sprang to his feet and forced himself to run, half-dragging Raistlin after him. The shrieks of their pursuers followed them, mocking, promising unspeakable fates for the ones they caught. The ground crackled beneath their unseen feet, pounding towards them in a gallop.

They ran wildly, heedless of everything but getting away from the howling shades, madly dashing through the tormented, bleeding trees, ignoring the skeletal branches that lashed their faces and tore their clothing. Dalamar didn't feel the pain in his lungs, the unbearable ache in his limbs; the fear had swallowed everything, leaving him with nothing but to run, run endlessly until the forest was gone and their pursuers faded back into the nightmares that had spawned them.

Solinari was rising, pale as a corpse, when they broke into the clearing. Its white light, as washed out and unwholesome as that of the river, illuminated what awaited them.

Those ahead stopped abruptly, causing those behind to plough into them. No one spoke, every one of them could see what awaited them. It was too much, after everything, this was more than could be withstood.

Dalamar stared, eyes wide in horror as the moonlight picked out the shimmering, translucent figures of elven warriors, the animate spirits of House Protector. Undead spectres bound to this place as those of Darken Wood had been, pledged to slay those who entered. However, good intentions would not save them from these living dead, and they had no crystal staff to save them.

Behind them came the jeering growls of their pursuers, coming into view as they stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight. The Dark elf's stomach churned at the sight of them and he swallowed bile. Nightmarish, warped, each at least as twisted as the one which had felled Caramon. Bloated, flightless birds with no heads and razors instead of feathers; massive serpents with the limbs of monstrous insects; some with other animals growing from them in a grotesque parody of birthing. Even from where he stood, the stench was putrid.

They were trapped, Dalamar knew, just as he knew this had been no accident; they had been herded here by the twisted animals, caught between hideously living and hideously dead, to be killed by both. He felt Raistlin's hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in painfully, reaching for any reassurance he could provide. The Dark elf closed his own around the human mage's. Better that they had died in Tarsis than live to face this.

Yet, strangely, neither side was advancing. The creatures, so ready to pounce before, were pulling back, fading into shapeless shades as they re-entered the bleeding trees. Even the undead elves seemed reluctant to advance, some even pulling back, as though in fear.

A thrill of dread span through Dalamar. What new evil was coming that was so powerful as to drive their attackers back? It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the spectres sightless sockets fix on Raistlin. Dalamar tore his eyes from the dead to stare at the human mage. Raistlin was pale, pale as a corpse, even the gold of his skin was ashen. He was still shaking, although the hand on Dalamar's shoulder had relaxed somewhat. "Are you alright?" the human whispered.

The Dark elf nodded, feeling as though his spine would snap from the motion, eyes darting from between the dead elves and his lover. Raistlin stared at him, and looked about to speak, but then stopped, a look of pure horror on his face. At first, Raistlin didn't speak, didn't even breath. His golden eyes were wide with disbelief, mouth half-open in speechless horror.

"_You!"_ The human's cry was so loud, so unexpected and horrified that the Dark elf jumped.

The younger mage's face was even paler now, staring blankly at nothing, as though confronted by his own ghost. But it was more than that, fury was clearly intermingled with the fear in the Red Robe's hourglass eyes. Eyes that could somehow see what had driven their attackers back. Even if it was within himself.

"It was _you _all along!" Raistlin was livid, his voice clearer than it had been since he had taken his Test. "You did this! You told me we-" he broke off, as if he had been interrupted.

Terrified almost out of his mind, Dalamar opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, too fearful to speak. Raistlin held himself stiffly, listening to nothingness. There was no wind to obscure even the lightest whisper, and the trees were silent in their torment.

The rage in the human mage's eyes subsided at last, although loathing still glittered there. "I see," he spat, a hundred colours of hate in the words for the one he addressed. "And what do you propose?" He spat the last word.

The Dark elf stared from his lover to the waiting undead frantically. He could see nothing, could hear nothing. "Raistlin..." he croaked. _Who are you talking to?_

Raistlin ignored him. A spasm of pain flashed over his face, as though whoever he heard had said something vile, and his eyes darted to Dalamar. "No, never," he hissed angrily. "Another then, if you must." He closed his eyes, then nodded, opening them to glance speculatively over at Caramon. "Very well, our bargain stands again. What? You ask for more?" The human mage trembled in suppressed fury, golden hands clenching tight. "Name it."

Whatever he heard must have been terrible, for again he flinched, jaw working as though he was thinking over the unspoken words.

Dalamar drew further away, back colliding with the sticky, blood-covered truck of a tree. He didn't understand. He was terrified. Whom was Raistlin talking? Who were they to be able to drive back an army of spectres and their wretched, still-living hounding beasts?

And who were they to make the human wizard fear and hate them with such intensity?

Raistlin hung his head. "I accept," he said in a low voice. "As before, I have no choice. But understand," he looked over at Dalamar, golden eyes burning, "that some things will never change."

It might have been in the Dark elf's fear-addled mind, but he though he heard something, a low, cruel, mocking laugh, a laugh that didn't belong among the living. A new dread overwhelmed the old one, coiling itself around the exile's soul, and he almost screamed in denial. He started forwards, as unable to stop himself as he had been in Darken Wood, the terrible knowledge locking his heart and soul, the knowledge that he was about to lose Raistlin forever. He knew it, knew it like he knew that the sun rose in the east, and every fibre of his being howled for him to do _something_, anything, to stop it.

The human did not move, not even when Dalamar caught hold of his arm, a desperate gesture to convince himself that his lover was still there. Raistlin didn't even acknowledged his presence, still staring at nothing, staring, Dalamar was sure, _within_ himself.

At first, Dalamar thought that it was a trick of the light, but when he pulled away, he saw the truth. It was as though the darkness they were staring at had reached out and devoured Raistlin's robes, turning them as murky and empty as the starless sky above them.

Still ignoring Dalamar, the now-Black Robe lifted his chin proudly. "I accept, but remember, this goes both ways, and even what is written in stone can be broken. What must we do?" If someone answered, they did as silently as before. The only noise came from Caramon's low cries. Goldmoon had healed him as best she could, but the big man was still terribly hurt.

"How do we reach the Tower alive?" Raistlin snapped, as though growing impatient. Again he listened closely, then nodded reluctantly. "And I will be given what I need? Very well. Do as you will, then." The human mage closed his eyes, and shuddered, as though very cold. He straightened, seeming suddenly taller than he could be, towering over them all.

Ignoring Caramon's low cry and Dalamar's gasp of horror, the newly anointed dark wizard turned to the now-circling elven spectres and twisted animals. He raised his hands, drawing from his pouch a piece of fur and an amber rod. Holding them in his left hand, he traced unknown symbols in the air and chanted a spell in a cold, sharp voice. The only part of Dalamar's mind not gibbering in terror knew he should recognise the incantation, but the words themselves slipped from his terrorised mind. He recognised it as the lightning bolt he himself had cast, but not any variation he knew of, not one bolt, but many, hammering into the spectres and monsters and dispelling them into nothingness.

"Come around me!" the Black Robe shouted at the others, his voice thin and rasping, and Dalamar could do nothing but stare at him.

This was not Raistlin. Not matter how he looked like him, this was not the person he knew and loved. The cold, alien light in his eyes, like those of a dead man's, the voice, even the way he held himself, were different. Not his own. Who's, Dalamar didn't know, but it was not someone he wished to know or meet ever again.

Despite the spectres, Dalamar had to fight back the urge to pull away and run again, run until he was out of these woods and the night was over and this was nothing but a terrible dream. He didn't move, too petrified to do anything. Whatever secret Raistlin had been hiding, this was too much, too much for him to understand. The only thing he knew, with an iron-hard certainty that terrified him, was that with each passing moment he came closer to losing the human mage, and perhaps he already had.

"Raistlin..." he croaked. He was lost. They both were.

For the third time, his lover ignored him. "Hurry," he snapped, still in that strange, dead voice. "They will not attack now. They fear me, but I cannot hold them back long." His lips twisted in scorn.

One by one, the others came to stand around him, all but Sturm.

"I knew it would come to this," the knight said slowly. "I will die before I place myself under your _protection_, Raistlin, and if any of you have any sense, you would leave too." Turning, the Solamnic strode off into the trees, chased by a vanguard of undead warriors.

"Ignore him," the Black Robe- not Raistlin, never Raistlin- sneered. "He goes to his death, and there is not reason to follow him to ours. We are to go to the Tower of the Stars, the heart of this place. We must walk through this dream, Lorac's Nightmare, to reach the place where it originates, although every hideous creature conceived in dreams will rise to stop us. Remember, however: Dreams hold hints of the past, the present, and the future. They may arise to help us, or to hinder us. Death exists only in our minds -unless we believe otherwise."

"Then why can't we wake up?" Tanis demanded. The Half-elf was trying to sound defiant, but his voice was shaking.

"Because your mind is too weak to break out of the hold Lorac keeps on your minds," the mage scorned, his mocking voice a sickening parody of the one Dalamar knew so well.

Half-elven flinched. "Then why don't _you_ wake up?" he snapped.

Raistlin smiled tauntingly, a malevolent, alien expression the Dark elf had never seen on his face, and would be glad to never see again. "Perhaps I choose not to."

"I don't understand!" Tanis shouted in exasperated despair.

The human mage's smile broadened. "You will, or you will die. In which case, it won't matter."

In any other situation, Dalamar would have pulled Raistlin aside and demanded the answers his lover kept from the rest of the group. But now... of all the creatures that surrounded them, Raistlin was the most terrifying. The unseen, unheard speaker, his companion's sudden change of allegiance... And worse, the terrible, unearthly look on Raistlin's face, as though his eyes were windows to the soul of a dead man. Everything, set against the backdrop of the horrors from this impossible nightmare, was enough to freeze any words before they were spoken.

Once again, the Raistlin made no move the breach the silence, and Dalamar was grateful. The human wizard walked over to Caramon, putting a black-robed arm around the wounded man's shoulders. "I will take care of him," he instructed Goldmoon.

"No," the big man protested weakly. "You're not strong enough. Raist..."

For once, the Black Robe showed no sign of irritation at the childish nickname, and his voice was again the one Dalamar knew, his tone holding a gentleness the Dark elf had only ever heard directed at himself. "I am strong enough now, Caramon. Lean on me, my brother." The Dark elf was struck at the change in his lover; the fey look was gone from his eyes, and his voice was his own again.

If his mind hadn't been so consumed with fear, Dalamar would have felt jealous. As it was, it was all he could do to start after the now Black Robe as he and Caramon started walking.

"No!" Raistlin turned, golden eyes ablaze and his voice that of a stranger. "Begone!"

The sheer force of the dark mage's words stopped Dalamar in his tracks as though they had been blows. He stared, uncomprehendingly at him. Once again, it seemed as though human's face was merely a mask worn by someone very different. Someone the Dark elf never wanted to know or see again.

"Begone," the human repeated, but his eyes flickered, and his face relaxed into a more familiar expression, once again recognisable as Raistlin, although still very cold. "Go to the Tower, we will meet there. I walk this without you."

A cold shudder climbed the Dark elf's spine. He didn't want to leave Raistlin, especially now, like this. He didn't move though, even when the spectres began to prowl and close in on them. Raistlin shot him one last glance from those dead eyes, making sure he wasn't following, then turned and helped Caramon limp into the trees, leaving Dalamar alone in the clearing.

Dalamar didn't seem to be able to stir. Any anger he had was swamped under a wave of confusion and dread. He was frozen in place, his heart tearing itself apart, his soul howling a sickening accompaniment to the silent weeping of the trees.

The undead were still circling, and although many of them had gone chasing the others, several had spotted the Dark elf and were closing on him.

He had no more time for questions. Dalamar lashed out wildly with his dagger, hoping to drive the spectres back. But they were already dead, and the threat of oblivion held no fears as they advanced. Half panicking, the Dark elf shrieked a spell _"Mas daya, ente mati!"_

He didn't expect the Sentinel Ruins spell to do much damage, but he hoped that in letting the magic out in a wide blast rather than a single bolt, he could catch as many of them as possible, and perhaps make them think twice about following him. He wasn't about to wait to find out though, the moment the last syllable was spoken, the Dark elf turned and raced down the path he knew led to Silvanost, not daring to think of his pursuers or his path or his destination, shutting out any thought save to run, dodging branches as the very trees seemed to conspire to send him back to his would-be executioners.

He was a moment too slow in ducking, and a twisted, shrivelled limb caught him in the jaw. He was thrown backwards, landing heavily on his back, and blood filled him mouth- both his own and the tree's. Retching, he scrambled to his feet, expecting at any moment to feel the spectres' swords biting into his flesh. Mercifully, mysteriously, there was no sign of the dreadful beings. Perhaps enough of the spectres had been wounded that they decided to try their luck with the other members of the group. Dalamar hoped so.

Trying to avoid looking at the twisted trees that still swung their branches menacingly, the Dark elf started on again, this time at a more sedate pace, tense and ready to bolt at the first sound or sign of movement. He kept his eyes fixed on the cobbled path in front of him, trying to block out the sight of the weeping, sobbing aspens in this place, which had once been his home and now seemed to be determined to become his grave.

He had barely taken three steps before the path changed, the cobbles seemed to melt, flowing like water and lapping at the tangled tree roots like leaden water, yet when Dalamar stepped on them, they were solid under his feet, although the texture had changed, becoming spongy, as though he was walking across the body of a corpse. Gritting his teeth and suppressing the urge to run or be sick again, he kept walking. His breath came more rapidly, and his nails dug into his palms in a desperate attempt to steady his nerves. Ripples formed in the iron-grey pool as he placed his foot on the surface, ripples flowing and forming into faces. First the face of an old man, mouth hideously distended, like a snake about to swallow an egg. He screamed, a hideous melody echoed and taken up by of hundreds of other faces, elven faces. Silvanesti faces. Faces he knew. Dalamar clawed at his own eyes and moved faster, shaking his head in a vain attempt to keep out the cries of agony, as if the whole of Silvanesti had been subjected to the tortures of the Abyss. Their screams were those of the trees, those of the warped animals, those of Dalamar himself.

He started running. He could not be far from the gates of the city... Please Nuitari, not much further, he implored soundlessly. And he ran on, losing all sense of time; he could have been running for days, weeks... or only minutes. His lungs burned, his limbs ached, and his ears rang with the screams of all of those who had died in the nightmare and haunted it still. The branches of the tormented trees whipped him, blotting out the sky.

Days, weeks, he didn't know, but the howls slowly intensified, the faces slowly dissolving into one, his own, staring up from the fluid pool, screaming and screaming, endlessly. Eyes screwed shut, still running, Dalamar shrieked back. He stumbled and fell, face to face with his own tortured visage. Frozen, he couldn't move, only able to watch as his own face melted into Raistlin's and his lover's voice took up the cry.

Unable to withhold his own wails, Dalamar forced himself to his feet, staggering on as the path flowed into one final face, the skeletal features of a rotting skull, and the screams turned into laughter.

Dalamar tripped and fell hard, cracking his head on the suddenly solid path. A shock of pain shot through his chest as the world went black.

* * *

When he awoke, Dalamar dared to hope the ordeal was over, that he had woken up in truth. One look around was enough to dispel that notion.

The path was no longer screaming, but the trees still were, and just a glance at the gate in front of him was enough to know that this ordeal was nowhere near finished.

The gates of Silvanesti were delicate and fine even now, but the once graceful animals and trees they pictured had changed almost beyond recognition. The wrought metal now reflected the broken land, the animals portrayed were the same warped monsters that had attacked them, the elves undead, the trees disfigured and rust-red with blood.

Dark elf or not, the solid reminder that this was Silvanesti, the homeland he had been cruelly ripped from and of which the very thought was agony, was too much to bear. His eyes closed, and tears trickled down his face as his hands closed over the cold, slick bars of the locked gates. Silvanesti, his homeland. The torment of coming here had been agonising, but to return to find it like this...

Yes, Raistlin had been right, this was a nightmare, and the worse he had ever experienced.

A low crackling, like wet wood on a fire, broke Dalamar out of his reverie. What now, he almost screamed. Wasn't this enough?

The gate, the carvings of the gate. The twisted animals and screaming trees, lifting free from the metal, coiling themselves around his forearms, reaching up to grasp at his shoulders. Again, he cried out, but he had screamed so much that all that came out was a hoarse croak. He tried to pull back from the metal now dragging him forwards. Whether they meant to hold him until the spectres came to kill him, or if the living metal would swallow him, Dalamar didn't intend to find out. He yanked at the iron tethering him to the gates, franticly pulling and dragging at it, ignoring the pain as it cut mercilessly into his arm, conscious only that he had to get it _off_, to get away!

It was only due to years of magical training that he managed to force himself to calm down, the mad panic that had gripped him lessening until he could think and plan. He was a wizard, he snapped at himself in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Raistlin's, he would use the magic he had been born to.

Leaning back, dragging the coils of iron as far back as he could, fighting the urge to cry out as the metal tore deeper into the wounds already inflicted, he cast, hoping that the same spell that had dissuaded the spectres from pursuing him would force the animate iron to release him. Even with his hands restricted, the magic worked, not only disintegrating the bonds holding him, but also boring a hole straight through the gate. With a creak like a dying oak, the gates swung open.

Softly thanking Nuitari, Dalamar stumbled through the open gates, and into the warped, broken city he had once called home.

Silvanost was a mausoleum, a rotting tribute to what it once had been. Houses tottered around the roads like the ruins of Xak Tsaroth, the bricks and mortar visibly crumbling. Some were twisted as terribly as the trees, the buildings warped into unspeakable shapes. More than once, Dalamar thought he saw one of them stir and rock like a tortured creature.

Is this what Raistlin always sees? he wondered, horrified.

He knew this place. To the north was the district of House Servitor, his old caste, and as bad as that had been, nothing deserved what the nightmare had wrought upon it. He knew every inch of this place, but would be hard pressed to recognise it now. His home, the places he had know, all crushed and destroyed under the weight of this nightmare.

The Dark elf tried not to look at the buildings, keeping his eyes fixed forwards on the Tower he was finally approaching, a skeletal finger pointing drunkenly at the empty sky. The Tower, he fixed that goal in his mind. The Tower of the Stars, now the Tower of the Dead. Lorac, the elven king would be there, as would the Dragon orb that was causing all of this. And Raistlin. Raistlin would be there, Dalamar knew that.

A stab of rage pierced the haze of terror at the thought. His lover had left him, he could see that clearer than ever, had left him to the mercy of the spectres, left him to his death. The Dark elf dug his nails into his palms. No, that was wrong. No matter what, it was impossible to believe that of Raistlin. He simply could not have left him to die, this was his own distrust colouring events. He might not be able to trust the human wizard -now more than ever- but the belief that the he would have left him to die... That was absurd.

The memory of Raistlin's argument with the darkness resurfaced, and Dalamar shuddered. He had never feared his lover before, but now... The memory of his face, that strange voice... Raistlin was powerful yes, even the Dark elf had been amazed how quickly he had grown in power, but he had never been afraid of him. No, his distrust had never quite stretched that far.

Until now.

What had happened in the forest? To whom had Raistlin spoken? And what had happened to him afterwards that had left even Dalamar, who knew him better than anyone, almost unable to recognise him?

Forcing the uncomfortable thoughts out of his mind, the Dark elf picked up his pace. He had no idea how long it had been since they had separated, but he hoped that he'd been able to reach to Tower before the rest of the group. That hope, however, vanished when he drew closer to the building. Sturm, Tanis and someone else he couldn't quite see had reached it, and they had been followed, or ambushed, whatever. Half a dozen of the spectres were attacking them, and Half-elven was on the ground, probably wounded, as the other two were fighting off the undead warriors.

It was darker now, but light enough that he saw the specters at the very moment they saw him. He saw their sightless sockets fix on him, their dead forms turn his way... and he saw them vanish, as though from a command he couldn't hear. Too frightened and confused to try to make sense of this, Dalamar slipped closer, keeping to the shadows, then stopped as he caught sight of the unknown warrior.

_Kitiara._

It was. He hadn't seen the woman for more than five years, but it was unmistakably her. The same dark hair, the same crooked smile, the very same person who had been eager to let the Belzorites kill Raistlin so long ago. His eyes narrowed with hate at the sight of her.

Tanis was still on the ground, and Dalamar could see that he wasn't wounded, but was cradling someone who was, and judging by the look on Half-elven's face, it was mortally. Finally though, the bearded half-elf got to his feet, letting the body he was holding fall to the ground.

Caramon.

A bolt of ice shot through Dalamar's stomach, one only intensified when he noticed the other two bodies lying on the ground beside the open Tower doors. _Please no, not Raistlin, please..._ he implored. No matter what had happened, anything but this.

The first one was too small, the dwarf or the kender perhaps, but the second...

Dalamar skulked closer, almost afraid to look and risk having his worse fears confirmed.The flash of red hair brought a feeling of such relief that the Dark elf sagged. Not Raistlin, thank the stars, but Tika. He'd never thought he'd ever be glad to see the barmaid.

Sturm walked over the stand beside Caramon's dead body. "What did I tell you?" he spat miserably. "I told him, told him so many times, but he never listened, and now this!"

"Poor Caramon," Kitiara remarked sadly. "Somehow I guessed it would end this way." A moment's silence, then, "So little Raistlin has become truly powerful."

Dalamar was probably the only one who caught the note of fear in her voice.

"At the cost of your brother's life!" the Solamnic exclaimed. "He led him to his death and abandoned him here!"

So Raistlin had killed Caramon? A flicker of hope lit up in the Dark elf's mind. He remembered when the human mage had been talking to... to whatever that entity was, that look he had sent him, the look of horror, those words he had spoken to the darkness... _"No, never. Another then, if you must."_ Then the odd attention he had paid to his twin... Could it be that the wizard had foreseen, or been told, that whoever travelled with him would die, and had chosen to put his brother to death rather than his lover?

Kitiara stared down at Caramon's body, lying in a pool of blood. "Poor kid."

The Dark elf crept closer as the three approached the steps leading to the Tower's door. He heard their cries as they found the bodies of Tasslehoff and Tika, and their footsteps as they entered the twisted building. Silently, following the bone-white walls, Dalamar went after them. He was no thief, but he had learnt enough, both in Tarsis and in the five years he and Raistlin had worked as mercenaries, to be able to move silently if he wished.

Dalamar had never been in the hall of Tower of the Stars before, but it would not be an experience he was anxious to repeat. The hallway was dank and covered with slime, its former beauty little more than a memory. Paintings of death and decay lined the walls, but they might as well have been mirrors or windows in this place. A faint green glow emanated from a room at the end of the hall.

Sturm had his arm around Half-elven's shoulders as they walked. "There was nothing we could have done, Tanis," he growled. "We've to keep going and put an end to this. Whatever those mages have done, we have to stop them. If I do nothing else, I'll live to kill them."

Dalamar felt momentarily confused, then realised that both Brightblade and Half-elven had left the clearing before Raistlin had sent him away. They believed him to be with the human mage, which gave him the advantage. The knight had made it blatantly clear what he planned for them, but had not been anticipating that he would be overheard. He had to reach Raistlin, to warn him. No matter what had happened here, he couldn't leave his lover. Together, they would be able to fight off the three warriors. However, if they caught Raistlin alone and unprepared... Sturm Brightblade had always wanted them dead, and Kitiara had her own reasons for killing her half-brother. Tanis would not protest, particularly after having seen what the wizard had done to Caramon.

The Dark elf crouched down. He couldn't sneak past the three without being seen and had no spells that could help him. Throwing caution to the winds, he broke into a run, heart pounding as he darted past Tanis and raced away down the passage before they could react, all too conscious of the shouts behind him as the three saw him. Cries of rage from Brightblade, and of shock from Half-elven.

So intent on his goal he was, he missed Kitiara's words, "I'll go after him."

He picked up his pace, hurrying through the penumbra towards the green glow. It was obvious Raistlin would be there, it was the only light in the whole Tower.

It was brighter now, and extruded a strange warmth, like an unearthly green sun. The aura of malevolence was palpable even here, sending shudders of fear and weakness through Dalamar. The hall seemed endless, and he was growing exhausted, but the light was dazzling now, almost too painful to look at. Baring his teeth, he threw himself at the door ajar, shoving it open. It banged off the wall and swung back as the Dark elf stumbled in.

He had a vague impression of a throne, the shadowy figure of an old man was seated in it, his hand on a globe from which the green light emanated. Behind them was a mass of stirring green shadows, and two vicious, glowing red eyes.

Dalamar didn't pay any attention to those, eyes fixed on the robed figure in front of him. "Raistlin!" His cry was as much sheer relief as warning.

The human mage turned, staring at him in amazement. "Dalamar?"

Why was he so shocked? He had told him to come here. A part of him wondered if the young wizard had actually meant that or whether he had expected Dalamar to die on the way there.

Shoving the thoughts out of his mind, the Dark elf took a step closer. "Raistlin, the others, they-"

Everything seemed to happen at once. The door behind him banged open a second time, and as he started to spin around to face however it was, they attacked. Had he not turned, the blow would have decapitated him. As it was, Kitiara's blade sank into his shoulder, almost severing his arm, splintering his collarbone and shoulder blade before locking into his ribcage.

Dalamar blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the blade protruding from the side of his chest, his upper body a spreading miasma of screaming agony, his arm dead and numb. He looked from the blade, and the blood now spurting rhythmically from the wound, up to Raistlin's horrified, ashen face. Then he was falling, the blade pulling free from his body with a jerk that almost stopped his heart, and hit the ground heavily.

The floor was freezing under him, but he was unable to move, to speak, to do anything but watch the slowly spreading pool of blood that was forming around his body, and feel the cold of the floor slowly creep into his bones and ice over his heart in a way Tarsis never could. He was dying, an internal voice gibbered in panic. The sword had cut through bone and artery alike, and it was his lifeblood staining the floor red.

Where was Raistlin? Had he left him to die alone? Was that the truth then, to be revealed only now, that he had been right to distrust? Was all that a lie? His mind span drunkenly as the blood drained from his heart and brain. Nothing made sense. His eyes started to fog, a veil of darkness falling and thickening, shutting out the world. The sounds around his seemed distorted; footsteps behind him, someone shouting. A boot dug into his ribs, lifting him up and throwing him on his back. Someone was speaking, but he couldn't hear their words. Shouts, screams. A roar. The voices spinning above him, slowly sucking him into a whirlpool of green light.

He was dying, sweet Nuitari, he was dying...

He was dead.

_Skull Bearer._


	6. To Control

_Dalamar Nightson: To be honest I hated that chapter, I had to write it out three times before I was even remotely satisfied with it, and it's only due to Chetwynd that it's any good. Even now, I don't like it. Your praise means a lot._

_Bob the Gremilin: Yes, even more so in this chapter._

_Dracoqueen22: That was probably the only fun thing in writing that chapter _:(_ , the forshadowing._

_Kalpana Silverstar: hugs_

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Thank you, that was exactly what I was trying to do and I didn't think I'd done it very well. Sorry for the lag, but after chapter 5 I couldn't even look at a DL book for ages._

Nocturnale

Chapter six - To Control

_We wish so hard to be seen  
and pray at night to be heard  
-Figurehead, Kovenant._

Raistlin stared at Kitiara, at his sister's blood-soaked sword, then down at Dalamar. The Dark elf was still alive, but barely, blood pouring from the dreadful wound.

He couldn't move, but he had to. He was screaming, screaming but unable to make a sound as his own most terrible nightmare took physical form in front of him.

_"Move!"_ He felt Fistandantilus shriek inside him. _"Get the orb, forget the elf. The orb is what matters. Take it!"_

Raistlin ignored the voice that he been his constant companion- his traitorous whisperer- for so long, staring at Dalamar, struggling to relax his frozen muscles enough to go to him. There was nothing he could do, he was no healer, no cleric, but at the very least, he would be there. Dalamar would know he had been there.

An iron hand pulled at him from within, killing the motion before it had begun and his mind fogged as Fistandantilus struggled for control. _"What do you expect to do?"_ the old lich hissed. _"The elf's dead already. Get the orb, or do you want to join him?"_

He could feel Fistandantilus' anger, feel it mix with his own shattered emotions, killing the vague thought that, yes, at this point death would be welcome. His own perceptions were shadowy and vague under the lich's control, barely noticing that his head moved without his volition, iron bands pulling the muscles, turning to stare at the huge dragon which was crouched, ready to pounce, beside Lorac's throne. With a wrench, Raistlin snapped the dead wizard's control, and the world flew back into dizzying focus. He looked back at Dalamar. The Dark elf wasn't moving, lying in a pool of blood as black as the robes shrouding him, his chest rising and falling raggedly, still tenaciously clinging to life. Torn between his desperate desire to reach his friend and the old lich's equally frantic attempts to get to the Dragon orb; Raistlin didn't move. His muscles were trembling from the conflicting messages, the world swimming in and out of focus, his nails biting into his free hand, knuckles turning white where he clutched the Staff of Magius, his mind filled with screams: Fistandantilus' shrieks and his own inarticulate howls of agony.

Kitiara sneered at him; no doubt, the tearing emotions ripping through him were obvious on his face. She slid her foot under Dalamar's inert body and kicked the Dark elf over on his back.

Even Fistandantilus' control was not enough to bite back Raistlin's soft moan of horror. The elven mage was pale, pallid as Solinari, save for the blood that still trickled from his parted lips. His grey eyes were wide, as if unable to understand what had happened to him, and the hideous wound on his chest bubbled over with black blood. Even as the younger wizard watched, the Dark elf's chest rose and fell a final time, and his eyes glazed over in death.

A dream, Raistlin's mind gibbered. A dream. This wasn't real, _could not_ be real. They'd awaken and it wouldn't be true, Dalamar wasn't dead. It was an illusion, a dream, a nightmare-

The frozen moment was destroyed as the door flew open a third time, the already stressed hinges giving way and snapping under the blow as Half-elven and Brightblade ran in.

"Raistlin!" the knight roared. "By the Gods, you'll pay for your brother's life." He stopped suddenly, eyes locking on the terrible sight of Cyan Bloodbane.

Tanis said nothing. He looked from the human mage to Kitiara, then down at Dalamar's broken, dead body.

No, no nonononono... Raistlin's mind was screaming in denial. This was a dream, this wasn't real, his friend wasn't dead. The moment he would touch the orb and it realised it couldn't best him, the whole dream would vanish and nothing would be true. The knowledge, however, offered no comfort, his heart and soul howling as though they had been torn apart. Perhaps they had.

_"Move!"_ Fistandantilus screamed, cutting through his mental agony. _"Move now!"_

But the young mage couldn't move, and by the time the old lich could force his frozen muscles to motion, it was too late.

Cyan Bloodbane, the huge, terrible green dragon who had shaped the dreadful nightmare that surrounded them, pounced.

Sturm jumped forwards, though if his target was the dragon or Raistlin was unclear; probably, the knight didn't even know himself. Once again, the world blurred like the dream it was as his control was overthrown.

"Hold!" Once again, Raistlin felt his throat and mouth move and shape words not under his command.

Fistandantilus' thoughts burned through him, as real as though they had been his own. Rage, or what would be rage if rage was cold and dead and black. At Raistlin for not moving and at Dalamar for being the cause. _"You fool,"_ the lich hissed as the green dragon stalked towards them. _"Your idiocy may well have destroyed you, and your **dearest** Dark elf as well. Are you such a fool as not to recognise weakness when you see it?"_

The words shot cold bolts through the wizard, and the arm holding the Staff of Magius faltered. He remembered Fistandantilus' anger at being thwarted, Dalamar would have made a far better tool for him that Caramon, allowing him to steal magic as well as life. Raistlin had thought he might just be sick at the idea, and he remembered the lich's sneers at the emotions he held for Dalamar. Raistlin had ignored those remarks, but this time he was unable to refute them. His love for the Dark elf had cost them a chance to seize the Dragon Orb, and however powerful, he should have been able to master the emotion. As foul as it was to admit, his emotions_ were_ a weakness. No. No, some part of him wailed, no, that wasn't right. He felt the thoughts cut off, Fistandantilus choking them to silence. The damage had been done, the lich hissed, and he would force himself under control. This was a dream, none of it was real, but if he didn't get to the Dragon orb, it wouldn't matter.

Raistlin felt a blanket of icy calm thrown over himself, and for once, he was grateful to Fistandantilus. The pain was too unbearable. He didn't care what the lich did, just as long as it allowed him control over his emotions, just as long as it stopped hurting. Forcing himself to turn his back on Dalamar's corpse and concentrating on the task ahead, the mage faced Cyan Bloodbane. The dragon advanced slowly, savouring the moment, whispering its nightmares, its red eyes agleam with promises of death beyond death.

Raistlin knew what would happen before it did; there was no mistaking the set to Brightblade's jaw as he fought down the suffocating dragonfear. Drawing his blade, the Solamnic stepped forwards to meet Bloodbane.

Tanis cried out, and the wizard cursed, the words as much his as Fistandantilus'. They couldn't cast, any spell would hit the knight first and what -if anything- would be left to hit the dragon would be too weak to hurt the beast.

If Cyan Bloodbane would be so accommodating to just kill the knight quickly, it would be much appreciated. Fistandantilus' hiss, Raistlin's agreement.

A low moan cut through the air suddenly, rising to a roar, the brassy bellow of Solamnic war horns. Bolstered by the sound, Brightblade hefted his sword and charged.

Raistlin's skin started to crawl as the sound changed, rising in note until it was the shrill screech of the dragonarmy horns. As if summoned by the sound, he suddenly noticed the shadowy shapes of draconians creeping around the base of the elfking's throne, the faint moonlight glinting off their blades. Still higher the note rose, until it was no longer the sound of a horn, but that of screaming, as though the silent suffering of the elven trees had been suddenly given voice.

And then, the mage saw the draconians.

He remembered how Alhana had told them that Silvanesti had been under siege. The poor, twisted creatures crawling towards them were the remnants of that dragonarmy. Deformed and warped, in unspeakable agony, their bodies shaped to resemble nothing less than living weapons, they were nevertheless a terrible threat.  
Teeth and claws had been elongated freakishly, some had bone spurs protruding from their scaly hides, sawing and cutting into flesh as they moved. Others had muscles that bulged through their skins, splitting their scales. Green blood leaked and splattered on the floor as they lunged for Brightblade. Behind them, Bloodbane reared over his twisted army, laughing.

Sturm hesitated, almost too disgusted to attack, then froze as the dragon advanced. Dragonfear hit the knight, and the mage watched as his sword clattered to the ground. A vague flicker of satisfaction woke inside the mage -he was unsure whom it belonged to- as Bloodbane bore down on Brightblade, the beast's tortured draconians dragging him before the dragon.

Lazily, amused, and clearly enjoying the theatrics, Cyan Bloodbane impaled the knight with his claws.

Tanis cried out, and, curiously, so did Kitiara. Risking a brief glace behind him, the mage saw that his foul sister had troubles of her own. A mass of shadows had detached from the wall and swarmed on top of her, twining and binding her sword and starting to pull her backwards. This time, the thrill of satisfaction was entirely Raistlin's, but with Brightblade's death, he was free to drive the dragon back, so he turned away from the spectacle.

Nevertheless, before he could draw up the energy to form the spell that would hurt Bloodbane badly enough to allow him to reach the orb, there was a flash of motion and, once again, someone stepped in the way.

Laurana darted to Sturm's fallen body, snatching up the knight's sword as the draconians closed in. "Touch him and you will die." The words were a low sob, but resolute.

"Tanis!" Kitiara shrieked. The coils of blackness covered her now, and she seemed as though the dark absorbed her into itself.

The Half-elven looked from her to Laurana, who stood strong over Brightblade's body even as the warped dragonmen surrounded her.

"Tanis!" The human woman's voice was higher, even more terrified as the darkness crawled up her throat.

The Half-elf, torn by conflicting emotions, did nothing. The elfmaiden fell silently under the draconian's claws, and with a final shriek, Kitiara vanished into the hungry shadows.

The wizard saw the horror cross Half-elven's face- Half-human, Dalamar's voice sneered in the back of his mind, and Raistlin felt the blanket of cold draw tighter around himself against the razor-sharp pain the memory caused.

_"Think not of him!"_ Fistandantilus snarled._ "Now. Take your chance now, forget the elf, get the orb."_

Gritting his teeth, Raistlin felt his body obey.

Cyan Bloodbane roared as he stepped forwards. The dragon's eyes narrowed at this new threat, obviously recognising the danger. Did it know who stood in front of him? There was a flicker of recognition in those abyssal red eyes.

_"Now!"_

Raistlin felt the cold chill of the lich's control sweep over him, but the world didn't blur; if anything, the focus was sharper than ever. The warm sensation of magical energy filled him, even as foreign words wrote themselves in his mind in letters of ice.

His power. Fistandantilus' spell.

_"Busuk perubahan semua berair dari mereka!"_

The words were alien and familiar at the same time, spoken by his own strange tongue, but it worked, and screams rent the air anew.

The draconian's bodies shrivelled and died, their cries as much of relief as of pain when their tortured forms withered and fell apart. Cyan Bloodbane reeled, strong enough to throw off the spell but terribly injured, even his draconic resistance faltering under the onslaught. Seizing the opportunity as he had failed to earlier, Raistlin threw himself forwards.

The dragon started to advance, then froze, shaking its head as though attempting to throw off the Dragon orb's commands. It dug its feet into the marble floor, Raistlin could hear the stone crack under its claws, but finally the artefact forced the beast into combat.

It was too late; they were too close. The wizard closed the last step, and reached out, fingertips brushing against the smooth surface of the Dragon orb. It felt like sun-warmed glass, and for a moment, it flashed red hot, searing his hand and the green light within it swirled wildly-

Then quietened, it cooled, and Raistlin watched the swirling patterns inside calm, swaying hypnotically under his hand as the room, the Tower, the whole world seemed to slowly... melt away.

* * *

Raistlin blinked. The light hurt his eyes and he screwed them shut, the brightness evident even behind closed lids. Tentatively, he opened them again, squinting in the light of the first dawn Silvanesti had seen in many, many weeks.

Exhaustion hit him like a falling portcullis, and for a few moments he thought he was going to faint. Finally, he looked up groggily, rubbing his burning eyes. His robes were red again, he noted, glancing around the room. He had felt more than seen the Nightmare dissolve, and other than the light and the rather conspicuous absence of Cyan Bloodbane, the room was unchanged. Tanis had collapsed, one hand clenched over nothing, and Dalamar-

The young wizard turned so fast his hand slipped from the pacified Dragon orb.

Dalamar was slumped on the floor, although whether he was unconscious or simply too stunned to move Raistlin didn't know. He was breathing again, and Raistlin's legs nearly buckled under the wave of sheer relief.

A flicker of scorn touched his mind, a cold, unwelcome presence that now made no secret to whom it belonged. Fistandantilus' thoughts hammered at him, pounding on his mind, blaming him for the earlier delay, for his weakness with the Dark elf. The human mage tried to shove the alien thoughts from his mind, but the lich didn't budge. The emotions were touched with amusement, mocking, a whisper from whose advice he had been more grateful for in earlier times.

Fistandantilus, the whisperer, less quiet now. Raistlin couldn't imagine how he could have ever mistaken the cold, dead voice for anyone else's. Prescient indeed! He had been a fool.

Forcing himself to ignore the old lich, he walked over to where Dalamar was lying, curled up on his side.

A bright flare of scorn tore his mind with every step, and, as before, Raistlin struggled to refute it. The Dark elf was a weakness, and would become ever more of one the more powerful he himself grew. He was competent enough now, while Dalamar hadn't even passed his Test. It was dangerous to trust so much of his self to someone who was no longer remotely his equal.  
Raistlin shook himself; what was he doing listening to _Fistandantilus?_ Point or not, he couldn't imagine why the old lich would do anything for his benefit.

_Or perhaps the old mage's stake in him was such that he didn't want him to die?_

Liar, Raistlin whispered back in hatred, stop lying to me.

Raistlin knelt down next to the Dark elf. Now he was closer, he could see he was shaking, and when he touched the other mage's shoulder, the elf scrambled away from him as though he was being attacked.

The memory of Kitiara's sword cleaving through the chest of his lover flashed through Raistlin's mind and he bit his lip, staying where he was, letting Dalamar see that it was him. For once however, this didn't seem to pacify the Dark elf, who kept retreating until he hit the far wall, still shaking uncontrollably and staring at Raistlin as though he had never seen him before.

A vague memory of the Nightmare flickered into the Red Robe's mind. Most of his recollections of that endless night were fuzzy, Fistandantilus' presence having blurred them indistinctly, but one moment flared into his mind: Dalamar's face as the old lich spoke through him. He had seen the Dark elf truly afraid a rare few times, but this was the first time he had been the source. An iron claw closed over his heart. He shuddered at the thought that Dalamar had been quite right to be afraid; while many of his memories were fuzzy, those of his argument with Fistandantilus were not. The lich would have had him use Dalamar to reach the Tower, to drain life from him to buy the undead archmage enough power to help him defeat those opposing them. Raistlin felt his gorge rise at the thought.

The alien emotions besetting his stirred again, remarking that it would have still been much better to use his lover instead of his brother. _"After all,"_ it leered hungrily. _"The elf is a mage, and I could have taken that power along with life, but from that oaf I received nothing but vitality."_

Sickened, as disgusted by the concept as he had been when it had first been outlined, he ignored the old lich.

Struggling to force the creature out of his mind, Raistlin reached out a hand to Dalamar, speaking low and soothingly. "It's alright. It's over, calm down."

The Dark elf neither responded nor calmed down, hugging his knees against his chest and pressing himself against the wall. A flash of anger shot through him at the sight of Dalamar's reaction. Did he really think he would have hurt him? It was rapidly followed by an even brighter flash of rage- at himself. Of course Dalamar would think that, he had all but led him to his death!

Raistlin sighed and got to his feet. Nothing could be done until his friend calmed down, and it seemed his presence only agitated the already terrified elf. Forcing himself to turn his back on his companion, he walked back to the Dragon orb. Lorac was unconscious, he noted dispassionately; clearly, the sudden withdrawal of the orb from his mind had sent him into shock.

Tanis wasn't moving either, still clutching resolutely at nothing. As he watched, the Half-elf opened his eyes. The moment they landed on Raistlin he jumped to his feet, lunging towards him. The now-familiar cold burn filled his body, but the motion was as much his as Fistandantilus' as he raised one hand in warning, his eyes narrowed at Tanis, the message clear- 'one more step, and you die'.

The Half-elf stopped, staring from Raistlin to the orb, then back to where Dalamar finally seemed to be dredging up some form of control.

"Where are they?" he demanded angrily. "Laurana? Sturm? And the others? Your brother? Are they dead?" If they were, it was obvious on whom the blame would fall, at least in the half-elf's eyes. A nervous glance. "And the dragon-"

"The dragon is gone." Raistlin couldn't keep the note of weariness from his voice. "The orb sent him away when it realised it could not defeat me. As for the others-" He shrugged. As though he cared "-I do not know."

They probably had though, clinging to reality despite the nightmare. Dalamar because he never knew when to give up, Caramon because he was too stupid to know dream from reality, Sturm... Gods willing, Sturm would be the one who never woke up at all.

Tanis looked over at Lorac uneasily. The elfking looked like one of his undead subjects, gaunt and skeletal, jaws locked in a silent scream. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive.

"What's wrong with him?" the Half-elf wondered aloud.

"He's living a nightmare." Raistlin's lip curled in distain, and with a flash of horror, he realised the motion wasn't his. He tried to stop talking, but it was as though his skin had turned to ice, the words all but steaming with frost. "He tried to control the Dragon orb but was not strong enough, so the orb seized control of him. The orb called Cyan Bloodbane here to guard Silvanesti, and the dragon decided to destroy it by whispering nightmares into Lorac's ear, nightmares he then made real through his belief in it, and his empathy with the land. It was his dream we were living when we entered, his dream -and our own. We too came under the dragon's control when we stepped into Silvanesti."

This time, not even the threat of magic could stop Half-elven. He grabbed the mage's shoulder and shook him. "You knew we faced this! You knew what we were walking into, there on the shores of the river!"

Raistlin pulled away, conscious of Dalamar listening intently. Surely he didn't believe he would lie to him-

_"Of course not,"_ the mocking voice of Fistandantilus whispered. _"Of course he wouldn't believe that, this exile who swore to your face he could never trust you, that he would always come to the worse conclusions..."_

_"Shut up,"_ came his own sharp mental reply, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and tears of rage wellling behind his frozen eyes.

The moment was broken as the door burst open and Caramon ran in, eyes wide. "Raist..." he whispered.

The big man was as white as curdled milk, badly shaken, and though he seemed unaccountably relieved to see Raistlin, the mage noticed he made no move to approach him.

All the same... Caramon looked at Half-elven, standing threateningly close to his brother. "Leave him alone, Tanis," he warned.

The Half-elf scowled at him. "He left you to die," he started from between gritted teeth, when he was interrupted by a soft moan coming from the other side of Lorac's throne.

Raistlin gritted his teeth, the irony of Tanis words were not lost on him. He had left Dalamar to die. Fistandantilus had left him to die. The lich had left him and was even now whispering poisoned hate to turn him against the Dark elf. With a final snarl of rage, he forced Fistandantilus back out of his mind.

Shivering with the chill of his cold body, Raistlin walked over to where Tanis and Caramon were standing and looked cautiously into the shadows. His lips twitched at the sight, the sight striking amusement into even his torn heart.

Alhana Starbreeze was huddled beside her father's throne, as far away from the windows as she could get. She was rocking backwards and forwards, and sobbing hysterically, not responding even when Tanis shook her.

Leaving the two to comfort the distraught princess, Raistlin walked back to Dalamar, who appeared to have recovered some of his composure. He watched Raistlin warily, silver eyes glinting under strands of knotted black hair.

The human mage walked until he was a few paces from the Dark elf, and sank to his knees, not getting too close in case his lover panicked again. "Dalamar," he whispered soothingly, as though he were Weird Meggin calming a frightened faun. "Dalamar, it's over."

The Dark elf didn't move, but the angry light in his grey eyes told Raistlin that no, it wasn't over, not by any means.

* * *

It was Tanis who broke the stalemate of silence, drawing away from the inconsolable Alhana and turning to Raistlin. "The orb..." he trailed off.

Raistlin snapped his head around irritably. The dream-energy Fistandantilus had absorbed from Caramon was being quickly consumed, and soon the lich would once again turn his attention on him for life. He could feel the creature lurking in the back of his mind, and it was only a matter of time before he had another coughing fit. The lich had damped down the pain in his ruined lungs, but soon he would stop and Raistlin would be in for a bad few minutes as all the pain he had avoided in the last few -Hours? Days?- made itself know at once. He scowled at the Half-elf. "What?"

"Is it still in control?"

That was a good point. In the chaos, he had forgotten that the abrupt breaking of the connection might have damaged the orb itself. It was unlikely, and certainly, the orb's glow -while nowhere near as blinding- was still there. There was still a chance, however.

He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the orb, his legs now starting to complain seriously about this treatment. A quick spell banished his fears. Although the reddish light edging the globe indicating its enchantment was dim to the others' eyes, to his it was dazzling, showing the orb was still powerful, and once again in control of itself after the brief period of confusion when he had touched it.

Raistlin nodded. "The orb is still enchanted. I had feared its power might have died when I touched it, but it is still in control."

"Of Lorac?" Dalamar spoke up for the first time. The Dark elf's voice was hoarse and raw.

The human mage glanced over at him, but there was little warmth in the Dark elf's grey eyes. "No, of itself. It has released Lorac."

Dalamar got to his feet stiffly, rubbing one hand over his shoulder, no doubt aching in sympathy with the dream-pain. Raistlin felt a deep stab of pain that he knew was entirely his own. "How did you do that?" he breathed, eyes boring into Raistlin's. "How did you defeat it?"

Raistlin knew exactly what Dalamar was asking, but avoided the question. "The orb is not defeated," he answered sharply. "With help, I was able to defeat the dragon-"

"Whose help?" The Dark elf's voice was a mere hiss, his face falling into shadow, and for the first time, Raistlin felt an edge of menace cloak his lover, and fear flickered in his mind, a flicker which quickly forged into anger.

Fistandantilus hissed wordless glee in his ear, and the human mage screamed wordlessly at him. No. Shut up. I won't listen to your lies.

"Who's help?" Dalamar's voice was louder, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

Raistlin felt a burn of anger at the Dark elf, couldn't he understand? He could feel Fistandantilus' claws in his mind, and he barely spare thought, let alone breath. "You know I can't-" he felt his lips move without his control, and clenched his teeth.

The edge of danger had vanished, and Dalamar's face twisted in pain, as though he was grappling against the pain of a terrible injury. For once though, he didn't ask any more. He cast one final, helpless look at his human lover, then sat back down. Raistlin couldn't think, his anger at Fistandantilus blurring with the lich's hate for him until he could barely tell them apart.

"We can free Lorac now," Raistlin told the others coldly unsure if it was his words he spoke, of Fistandantilus'. He turned to face the tormented elfking and lay his fingers against the old man's neck. The skin felt like thin parchment, and if not of the faint life beat, the wizard would have thought him dead, so cold Lorac was. "He lives, for the time being at least, the heartbeat is very weak. You may come closer."

Tanis was looking at the Dragon orb, clearly unwilling to come any closer to it than he was already. A flicker of alien amusement touched mage's mind, and he smiled in response, beckoning Half-elven to come closer.

"One last thing." The half-elf hesitated. "Can the orb be of use to us?"

This time the whisper was one of agreement, and impatience. Fistandantilus was eager for him to use the orb, and while that would normally have been reason enough to avoid it at all costs, Raistlin didn't have any choice.

"Yes," he answered finally, adding under his breath, "If we dare."

The moment the Red Robe removed Lorac's wasted hand from the Dragon orb's smooth surface, he felt the last tenuous shreds of control binding the elfking to the enslaving artefact break. The old man drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then screamed, a terrible, soundless cry, an echo of those of the trees. The Silvanesti had clearly screamed so much and for so long that he was unable to make a sound. His hands groped around, locking on the orb's stand, on the arms of his twisted throne, and Raistlin drew back as he made to grab at him. Eyes still screwed shut, Lorac's cry died to a corpse-rattle as his lungs emptied, only to drag in another breath and scream anew.

"Father!" Alhana sprang to her feet from where Caramon had been trying to calm her and threw herself at the elfking, kneeling before him holding his hands in hers.

Raistlin looked at the lot of them in distaste, watching their flesh rot and fall under his cursed eyes. The king of the living dead and his madwoman daughter, with their court of walking corpses.

The princess clutched at her father's hands, weeping wildly as Lorac continued to scream.

"Name of the Gods." Caramon winced. "I can't take much more of this."

"Father!" Starbreeze called to Lorac over and over again, a mantra that drove through Raistlin's skull and made even Fistandantilus' whispers seem pleasant in comparison.

Finally, either due to his daughter's cries or to the broken connection to the Dragon orb, the king of Silvanesti seemed to regain some semblance of sanity. Slowly, his screams died away to sobs, then to true silence. Finally, as though fearing what he might see, he opened his eyes.

"Alhana?" Raistlin winced, the elfking sounded worse than he did after a coughing fit. "Alhana, my child. Alive!" The princess shuddered when Lorac's bony hand touched her cheek, but she didn't move. "It cannot be! I saw you die! I saw you die a hundred times, each time more horrifying than the last. He killed you, Alhana! He wanted _me_ to kill you! But I could not. I know not why, I have killed so many..." The cracked voice trailed off, and suddenly he sat up, noticing the others for the first time. So sudden was the motion that Alhana was knocked backwards. "You!" The elfking's broken voice strained in rage. "You, Half-elf! I killed you -or tried to. I must protect Silvanesti! I killed you! I killed all of you!" Then his eyes went to the Red Robe, and Fistandantilus laughed as cold terror replaced the anger. Trembling, he shrank back. "You... you I could not kill... you..." He looked at the human mage again, confusion mixing with fear. "No... Your robes are red, you are not he... yet you were! Who are you?" Frantic, he looked back at Tanis. "And you, you are not a threat? What have I done?"

"Do you have all afternoon?" Dalamar's voice spat pain and anger in equal measure. "For it will certainly take that long."

Lorac stared at the Dark elf for the fist time, recognition flickering in his eyes. "You... the exile... The woman killed you when my warriors could not... they would not... would not go near the destroyer..." His voice died, eyes wide with fear. "You do not know."

"Don't, father," Alhana pleaded, sanity returning to her features. "You must rest now. The nightmare is ended, Silvanesti is safe."

Raistlin fought back a snort. Safe! He had looked out of the window the princess still did not dare go near, he had seen what was left of the elven land. It was, if anything, even more horrific in the cold light of day than it had been at night. The dead warriors were at rest, but the warped monsters still stalked the woods, now hideously visible, and the trees still screamed their silent symphony to their tormentor.

Dalamar looked at him, and for a moment Raistlin saw a familiar expression on the Dark elf's face. Lorac's words had puzzled his elven lover as much as they had him, and for a moment he dared to hope he would turn to him with his questions, as he had so many times. Even though he had no more idea than the elf had, it would a blessing to be able to speak to his lover and breach the silence between them. Yet, the look died as soon as it had appeared, crushed under the memories of the dream, and Dalamar turned away again.

Raistlin sighed, closing his eyes and wincing as the door was thrown open and Tika, Goldmoon, and Riverwind burst in. His head was aching, and the temptation to throw everything to the winds and just fireball everyone in the room was overwhelming. Anything for some quiet.

Without warning, his chest clenched as the net of numbing magic Fistandantilus had woven around his lungs vanished. Tears blurred his sight as he doubled over, coughing so hard that flecks of blood splattered the floor, as though he was retching pieces of his ravaged lungs. The pain was such that he fell to his knees, head lowered, struggling to ride out the spasm the threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

A hand touched his shoulder. Dalamar? Was this pain enough that the Dark elf had forgiven him? He tried to look up, but the agony was such that he could barely move, blinded by sweat and tears. A hand was rubbing his back soothingly, easing away the aches and pains that automatically accompanied a coughing fit, and at last Raistlin was able to draw in a ragged breath. One hand came up to wipe away the blood that filled his mouth and dripped down his chin, not just that in his lungs, but he had bloodied his own lip. Spitting the liquid out, he looked up.

Caramon looked back at him, forehead furrowed in anxiousness.

A blaze of fury shot through the human wizard and he shoved his brother away, the motion so sudden that the big man lost his balance and fell over. Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled over to where Dalamar was standing, unmoving, looking out over the ravages of his ever-lost homeland.

The anger spilled out eager to include Dalamar in it condemnation. He had been hurting, yet the Dark elf had ignored him and left _Caramon_ to deal with him.

"Do you not care?" he hissed, voice weak and shaking with suppressed rage. "How could you leave me?"

The Dark elf didn't move. His face was as pale and cold as marble, arms crossed as he stared impassively out of the window. "You should know," he whispered, as much to himself as to his companion. "You left me to die."

The words hit Raistlin like an arrow to the gut, and he could only stare as Dalamar turned and walked away. Within his mind, the bloated leech Fistandantilus was laughing. All this weakness, he gloated, all this pain, for a whore of a Dark elf who didn't trust him and didn't care.

And for once, Raistlin had no answer.

_Skull Bearer._


	7. To Struggle

_A bit shorter, but neccessary. A few revalations in this chapter.  
Sorry for the wait, this was a very hard chapter to write, and came during a rather hard time, so again, apologies for the long delay._

_Dalamar Nightson: I hope so, as I've said, this has been pretty hard to write so I hope you'll like it._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: That part is of course central to this fic, and will continue to be. Thanks for the support._

_Myar: Thanks, it means a lot coming from you hugs._

_Bob the Gremlin: **sigh** So do I, but one has to do as the muses command, and at the moment, this is the way they're going. Thank you for the review._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter seven- To Struggle

_And yet we have nothing to show  
But false words and broken dreams  
-Figurehead, Kovenant_

The next morning, Lorac was dead.

Awakening from a sleep filled with nightmares as terrible as those from the Dragon orb, Raistlin couldn't dredge up anything but contempt for the wretched elfking. Bad enough that he set his land in this state, to die and take the easy way out was pure cowardice. By the look on Dalamar's face, the Dark elf felt the same, his lip curling in a sneer of disgust.

Seeing Raistlin looking at him, Dalamar shot him a cold glance, anger and intermingled pain telling him that the elf was still haunted with by what happened last night, and had not forgiven him. For that matter, Raistlin wasn't sure he had forgiven himself. He had woken up wondering that very thing. The way he had behaved had been despicable. Fistandantilus or not, he should have had the strength to go to Dalamar when the elf had fallen, but to leave him and then to be angry when Dalamar had left him afterwards... Raistlin shook his head, wondering what he had been thinking to even consider his emotions for the Dark elf a weakness. If there was a shortcoming here, it was in Fistandantilus's presence.

The lich was quiet now, his power no doubt drained from the events of the past few days, but his presence was stronger than ever, drawing energy from the younger mage's body to sustain him. Raistlin winced and held back a cough at the thought. His health was worse than usual today, and he knew exactly who was to blame. Still, it was the way he himself had acted which shocked him. He should have had enough strength to throw off Fistandantilus's control, and the way he had treated his lover afterwards... Yes, he had been angry, but he should have tried to speak to the elf before they had settled down to rest.

Still, there was time now, and Dalamar deserved to know the truth.

Swallowing dryly against the ever present pain, he reached out and touched the Dark elf's arm, trying to express in a glance what his shattered health wouldn't let him express in words; that he was sorry, that he loved him, and that nothing like this would ever happen again.

The last was a hollow promise, but Raistlin was prepared to uphold it as best he could.

Clearly, their relationship had not been damaged so badly that Dalamar couldn't read his expressions. The Dark elf's face softened slightly, and he sighed and beckoned the human over to one of the windows. It was not a pleasant setting for such a talk, watching the ravaged land twist and shimmer in the faint light of the setting sun. They must have slept the whole day away.

Dalamar looked at him, frowning slightly, and jerked his head- _Talk._

Raistlin hesitated; he needed to tell his lover the truth, if nothing else. The Dark elf deserved to know. He had died for him in the Nightmare, and the least the young mage could do was to explain what had happened. Unfortunately, due to Fistandantilus' influence, he didn't think he'd be able to get through half a dozen words before his torn lungs forced him to stop. A fresh stab of pain only reinforced the point and the younger mage shook his head, already imagining Dalamar's reaction.

The Dark elf expression grew colder, and Raistlin saw the play of muscles in his jaw as he gritted his teeth against what must have been bitter disappointment. He reached out and clasped Dalamar's arm as the elf turned to go.

"If you aren't going to even-" Dalamar started angrily, then stopped as Raistlin held up one hand.

His fingers tightened on the Staff of Magius, leaning on it as he fought down a spasm and struggled to get the words out. Still, he had barely choked out the first word before Dalamar stopped him, touching his fingers to the human's lips. The anger in the Dark elf's face was gone, replaced by a sad smile; no doubt he'd realised the truth: that his lover simply _couldn't_ speak.

Closing his eyes and swallowing dryly, Raistlin nodded, wishing bitterly that Caramon would hurry up with the firewood. He wanted to speak so badly, but his throat closed every time he tried.

Dalamar's fingertips trailed along his cheek, and Raistlin felt something deep inside his heart unknot, and tears prick his eyes at the gentle contact. The welcome caress that only reinforced the knowledge of why he had to speak, to trust his lover with the knowledge of what had happened, both in the Nightmare, and in his Test, long ago.

Again, the doubts resurfaced; it was the wrong time, the wrong place. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the war was over, then they could not only talk, but take action.

Raistlin shook his head. He only had to remember the way Dalamar looked at him after the Nightmare to refute that argument. Should he wait, the Dark elf might lose whatever trust he had entirely, or worse, start to view him as a threat. Besides, he was starting to suspect that his doubts were not his at all. By the time Caramon returned with a pile of broken furniture to serve as kindling, Raistlin had made up his mind: However much danger his admission might put them in, it would be far worse not to speak at all. He would offer the truth, and simply hope the Dark elf would learn to trust him.

They sat down as Caramon dumped the pile of wood on the floor, and Raistlin took out the small kettle they used for this purpose, filling it from their waterskins because no one was trusting the water in this place. His task over, Raistlin watched his twin strike flint to steel to make the firewood catch. Flames flickered up from the kindling, and even the small amount of smoke from the damp wood was enough to break what control the frail mage had over himself. He doubled over, coughing hard.

And this time, Dalamar was there; one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, the motions dispelling the cramps and aches that set in after each spasm. Slowly, the iron knot around his lungs loosened and Raistlin drew in a ragged breath, turning away from the flames so as not to tempt another fit.

He had his head down; concentrating on breathing and grimacing at the whistling sound of his breathing, and only came back to himself when his friend tapped his shoulder.

Raistlin turned back and gave a pained smile when the Dark elf pulled out his mug from his pack and filled it; the water must have boiled while he was fighting back the pain. Still gritting his teeth, he pulled out a handful of the herbs from his pouch and poured them in. It was more than he usually put but perhaps it would just make it more effective. Lunitari only knew he needed it. His raw throat made it an effort to swallow, and the taste was as unpleasant as ever, but almost at once, the pain abated. He gave a soft sigh of relief as the steel claws gripping his chest dissolved. Still, he waited a moment, preparing the words in his mind before speaking them.

His tongue had barely tasted the syllables when his body went horribly cold. Ice crawled up his throat, freezing the words before they could leave his lips, and sinking through the muscles of his jaw and clenching his teeth tight. It was as though a cold hand had closed over his throat, a chokehold to stop him from speaking, and at the same moment a shock of pain filled his chest as icy claws tore through it.

The stranglehold loosened, and Raistlin drew in a gasp of air only to lose it again in a fit of coughing. The pain was agonising, as though he was coughing through broken ribs, the shattered bones tearing into his lungs with every spasm. The blood trickling from his lips only re-enforced the image. It hurt so badly, choking and gasping until he felt light-headed, every breath a battle. He could barely breathe, let alone drink his tea, if that could even help him now.

"Raistlin?" He could hear the puzzlement in Dalamar's voice. Of course, the elf wouldn't be too suspicious; it often took a while for his tea to work after all.

How could the Dark elf know that this was completely different? His tea had worked, either he had been fortunate or the increase of herbs had sped up the effect, but he had felt the pain unknot only to return again.

It hurt far too much. He had suffered bad fits before, and if this were any other occasion it could have been easily explained; his cough was often triggered by exposure to necromantic magic -no doubt something to do with his connection to Fistandantilus- the events in Darken Wood had proved that much. It should be easy to explain why being in this place was so painful.

Even through the red haze of pain, Raistlin could see what was wrong with that assumption. He had not suffered until now, even when the spasms had gripped him, they had been due to his earlier exertion and not due to any adverse reaction to magic. No, Raistlin had an sickening suspicion as to what- or rather,_ who_- had caused this fit.

It was getting harder to breath, and black dots were forming before his eyes before he managed to draw in a ragged breath. For a few moments, he was unable to do anything but sit there, drawing in gasps of air as the bloody haze finally lifted.

Dalamar was looking at him, concern having replaced puzzlement. He lay a hand on the human mage's shoulder, kneading out the cramps that always set in after a coughing fit.

With difficulty, Raistlin picked up his mug and drained it, gritting his teeth as his stomach rebelled. Clenching his jaw against the overwhelming urge to retch up the bitter liquid, he leant into the Dark elf's touch, thankful for the comfort.

He suspected he knew what had caused his coughing fit, and also why, although the realisation brought no comfort. Still, he owed it to Dalamar to try to speak again, even if it would hurt even more. Wiping flecks of blood from his mouth, his lifted his head to speak. The Dark elf smiled encouragingly, his hand sliding down to rub his back.

He drew in a breath, "Dalamar, I-"

This time the claw closed around his heart, and Raistlin gave a choke of pain before doubling over again. He screwed his eyes closed and forced himself to focus even as the spasms threatened to rend his body apart from inside. He pulled back inside himself, to the cold, dark place where Fistandantilus's power dwelled, reaching down to force the evil archmage to release him.

For a sudden, merciful moment, the pain stopped and he was able to draw in a tortured breath, then his control was wrenched away and his suspicions were confirmed in the most horrific way.

_"If you will not obey, you must be made to."_

The coldly furious words echoed through his, as did a burst of outrage as his audacity. The pain seemed to double and for a moment, he was back in his Test, Fistandantilus' skeletal fingers tearing through his chest, lacerating his lungs before closing, vice-like, over his heart.

Had he breath, Raistlin would have screamed. In that moment, his control slipped.

The pain ceased abruptly, and the world slid out of focus, the lich's consciousness rearing up through the mental connection and stifling his own. Cold icing over his body, freezing him inside and out. His muscles pulling, forcing him to his feet as a puppet master would a marionette. Through the disjointed fog of his thoughts, the mage cursed himself bitterly for reaching for Fistandantilus; it had been practically an invitation for the old lich to take control.

"Raistlin?" He faintly felt Dalamar's touch his shoulder; it was as though all his nerves had been numbed.

Fistandantilus turned his head, and the younger wizard felt his lips pull back in a ghastly smile.

He didn't have to look to see the Dark elf recoil and the fear resurface in his eyes, but the knowledge of it was enough to shock Raistlin out of his inaction. Dragging the scattered shards of his mind back together, he started to push against Fistandantilus' hold. It was as though he was railing against a wall of iron, unforgiving and unbreakable, but he kept struggling, ignoring the lich's snarl of rage. It was hard, so hard, at once trying to hold his consciousness together under the ancient, dead creature's onslaught and fighting to pull the archmage out of his mind.

The world swam in and out of focus around him, and Raistlin was so intent on the struggle that he didn't realise where they were until he saw the now familiar green light.

Of course, that had been Fistandantilus' goal since they had first heard of the Dragon orb, he had wanted it from the beginning, and had been completely prepared to do anything -including revealing his presence to Raistlin- in order to obtain it. But why would the lich force his control when he knew that it was entirely Raistlin's intention to take the Orb anyway?

A moment's distraction was all it took; Raistlin's thoughts, his whole sense of self, was scattered. Freed from the living mage's assaults, Fistandantilus reached out for the Orb, the human fingers clenching into a claw, mimicry of the lich's own withered bones. He didn't touch the artefact, instead running his stolen hand through the air above it, murmuring softly. The Orb glowed brightly, but clearly, it refused to obey the lich's commands. A flash of alien anger shot through Raistlin, and dragging his thoughts together, he threw himself against the mental barrier the dead mage had put up to keep him out.

Whether because the lich was distracted or because he had found a weakness in the walls, the Red Robe felt the blockade give slightly.

This time, the anger was tinged with impatience. Fistandantilus knew he hadn't long before Raistlin forced him out. Instead of retaliating, the lich strengthened the walls and turned his focus outwards.

The human mage was peripherally aware of Alhana speaking to him, and his numb hand closing over what felt to be a cloth sack, although his focus was so distorted, it could have been anything. He felt the familiar drain of magic as a spell was cast, and the object in his hand warmed in response; whatever it was, it was enchanted.

"Caramon!" This time the words were clear -and they should be, after all, they had come from his own throat. His voice was distorted, although that might be simply his perception, but he thought he heard an echo of Fistandantilus's cold tone in the word.

The world was starting to become clearer when Caramon stepped forward, clear enough for Raistlin to notice Dalamar standing a little way behind his brother. The sight only made him struggle harder, the metal walls starting to splinter under his frantic attacks.

"Bring me the orb!" His voice was sharp, with a frantic edge.

"Not for all the treasure in the world!" The big warrior's words were an echo of his expression: horror-struck.

"Bring it to me now!" Fistandantilus's voice became even more evident, as did his agitation. Raistlin felt his hand reach for his components pouch.

Caramon's eyes went wide at the blatant threat, but still he didn't move, silently shaking his head in a silent plea.

The lich's power was starting to break, and still the younger mage pushed harder. The first tendrils of his own control broke through Fistandantilus' barrier. "The Orb only snares those with intelligence." The words were forced out past gritted teeth. "So those in _this_ party will be quite safe. Bring it to me!"

The larger twin hesitated for a moment more, then stepped over to the orb and gingerly lifted it from the twisted golden stand that held it. Grunting with its weight, he stumbled over to him.

Fistandantilus' control was visibly disintegrating, and the human mage fought the lich, struggling to snap his mental hold.

_"Drop it in the bag!"_ This time, the voice that emerged from Raistlin's mouth sounded nothing like him.

"What! Raist-"

_"Do it!"_

Caramon hefted the artefact, eyeing the small bag Alhana had given his brother doubtfully, but he let go of the orb.

The moment the artefact hit the bottom of the sack, Raistlin tore Fistandantilus from his mind and hurled the lich back into the furthest reaches of his spirit.

With shocking suddenness, the world flicked back into focus, as though he had lit his staff in a previously dark room. His senses reeled with the sudden influx of sensations; the coarse weave of the bag in his hands, the rub and rustle of his red robes, the dying light shining through the windows, and most welcome of all, the senses and responses of his body, his once again.

Raistlin dragged in a cautious breath, and looked down into the bag he held. The orb was there, nestled in the depths of a bag too small to possibly hold it. Or perhaps not. For a moment, it was as though the bag had grown to the size of a pavilion, and he himself was a giant. Slightly disturbed and more than a little curious, he reached into the bag. The moment his fingertips approached the artefact, they stopped; it was though he had reached an invisible barrier that wouldn't let him proceed any further. Confused, he looked up at Caramon, wondering if only the one who put it in who could remove it. Then he realised the truth.

It was the only explanation, and he realised why Fistandantilus had been so desperate to be in control when the Dragon orb was placed inside the bag. Only the one who held the bag when something was put in could take it out again. It must have been how Lorac had been able to spirit the artefact away from Istar without being noticed. The old lich knew that Raistlin's longing for the artefact was second only to his own, and was forcing the human mage to call on him again. A flash of cruel satisfaction was all the proof he needed.

A burning, incoherent rage filled him as he closed the bag and slid it into a pocket; it blazed from the core of his being to the dark place where the dead parasite resided. In response, he received a blast of withering hatred, a wordless declaration of eternal loathing, and felt the iron claw lock around his lungs again. Raistlin had just enough time steel himself for another mental battle before the coughing fit racked him, driving him to his knees. Doubled over, blood trickling from his mouth and tears from his eyes, the human mage threw back the creeping tendrils of Fistandantilus's control as they sought weak points to exploit. They would find none; he would make sure of that.

The spasm was every bit as bad as the one that had racked him only a little while ago, and like that one, this fit showed no signs of abating, fuelled as it was by the lich's rage.

And this time, unlike last time and the time before, no one was coming to offer comfort.

Raistlin gritted his bloodstained teeth, tearing the thought from his mind and hurling it back where it came from. He recognised it for what it was, another of Fistandantilus's cruel taunts. The lich could only control him if he let him, as in the Nightmare, or if he himself was too mentally weak to defend himself. The dead creature in his head had caught him off his guard once, but not again. No, never again, and no amount of pain was going to change that.

He didn't know how long he knelt there, conscious of nothing but the pain tearing through his chest and throat, not registering anything else, not the cold flagstone floor, nor the footsteps that made their reluctant way towards him. A hand shook his shoulder, not the gentle touch he knew so well, this was much rougher, but Raistlin knew the author of it was the same.

He forced his tear-blurred eyes open and looked up at Dalamar's forcibly impassive face. The façade was a thin one, and Raistlin could see the emotions flickering just below the surface. Fear, dread, anger; each one sparking a mirror reaction in Raistlin's own. But not at the Dark elf, no. He knew where blame truly lay. His lover had been fearful enough before this and his recent behaviour, the sudden change from one state to the other, must have only made this worse.

It was with a sickening lurch that Raistlin realised that whatever trust he had managed to glean from his lover must be lost, and with an even worse one, he realised why. This was your plan all along, he screamed at Fistandantilus. His actions during the Nightmare, and even before then, the soft whispers warning against telling the Dark elf anything, even to leave him behind. And above all, his strange behaviour when coming out of the Nightmare, how slanted and unreal his perceptions had been, because the dead wizard had wanted them to be. The lich could only control him if he his mental control was weakened, and how better to do that than removing a bastion of his strength? His thoughts faded into a wave of fury and hate, accusation and guilt. He should have guessed this, stopped this before it had gone too far. It had taken him almost seven years to build up what trust he could with Dalamar, and that might well now be destroyed.

Raistlin forced back the crippling wave of despair that swept through him. This was exactly what Fistandantilus wanted, an opening to slip through again, and if the living mage let him, things would only get worse. Choking dryly, he looked up into the elf's steel-grey eyes, trying, once again, to tell him what his shattered body could not put into words.

Then, despite the pain in his lungs and the spasms still shaking him, Raistlin smiled. He smiled because perhaps Fistandantilus had underestimated the Dark elf, and because not everything might be lost.

Clasped in Dalamar's hands, held out in offering, was a newly warmed mug of tea.

_Skull Bearer._


	8. To Leave

_phoenix647: hugs Welcome to my AU, many thanks for your nice review and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: In fact it was that part that I was worried about, the 'strength' bit was walking perilously close to cliche._

_Dalamar Nightson: Yeah, we've had a lot of angst lately and I thought we could do with a bit of lightening, it was getting repetitive, but hey, what do you expect from the Silvanesti Nightmare._

_Chetwynd: Thanks a lot love- **hugs**-.You know I couldn't have done it without you. :)_

_Bob the Gremlin: Heh, I'm like that with some fics, although fewer now than before. I seem to be growing out of fanfiction :( Don't worry though, I'll never abandon this, I've too much planned._

_Tara Dawn: Fistandantilus is too much fun to leave alone. He's an example of Weiss and Hickman's writing skill, a villain you simply cannot sympathise with, he's too evil._

_Sorry to all for the long lag in updates, but I'm going through a pretty turbulent time, and my bloody bunnies have just decided to spontaneously change the storyline I'm working with. Meaning long hours working out where I'm going with this fic and longer hours discussing these ideas on MSN with Chetwynd. So it's not been the easiest few weeks._

_Anyway, here's chapter eight._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter eight: To Leave

_When one world ends  
something else begins  
The Fall Of Adam, Marilyn Manson_

Dalamar watched as Raistlin finally sank into a restless sleep, his cough plaguing him even in rest. His tea no longer seemed to stave them off, as though the mixture had lost whatever power it had to sooth the spasms that still racked the human mage.

A chill ran up the Dark elf's spine, and he wondered, in a surge of fear, if Raistlin's condition might not have been getting steadily worse. It had occurred to him that his lover might have faked the coughing fit in order not to talk, but it made no sense. Why would he have offered the information in the first place? Raistlin would have been far more likely to make another feeble excuse. Perhaps he had done it in order to diffuse the tension that trembled, wire-taut between them, but again, it didn't fit with what Dalamar knew of him. It was too obvious, too suspicious, and again the Dark elf's thoughts were drawn to the way the human had looked immediately after the spasm had ended so suddenly: It had been a smile he had never seen on his lover's face, even in the depths of the Nightmare, and he would count himself blessed if he never saw it again. Cold, mirthless, cruel, and mocking; a death's head grin, over which those golden eyes glittered, as blank and lifeless as those of a corpse.

It had been as though the Raistlin of the Nightmare had followed them into the waking world. It had been all Dalamar could do to stay in the room; he'd staggered back in terror, certainly convinced that Raistlin, his dearest friend and the person he loved above all else, was about to attack him. He hadn't, but the clear malice in his eyes had been sickening. Every look, every movement recalled the creature the Red Robe had become in the Nightmare, the way he moved, the mask-like look of his face, the alien look in his eyes and his voice... That was something Dalamar didn't think he would ever forget. Even in the Nightmare, there had been some hint of familiarity in his companion's voice, but this had been completely, horrifically different, as though a stranger was speaking through the young wizard, forcing his throat to sounds it had never pronounced. It had been frozen, shattering the cold air to icicles, and held an edge of iron that had only grown sharper as fury entered it. Then, just as the Dragon orb had vanished into the depths into the enchanted bag, the change had disappeared, and just as abruptly. The mask-look had left Raistlin's face, and his hourglass eyes flickered back to life, as thought shutters had been opened behind them. The flurry of emotions that had crossed his face in that one moment were too fast for even Dalamar to read, then they were gone, and the young mage had crumbled under the force of a terrible coughing fit.

Dalamar didn't know why he had acted at that moment, offering Raistlin the very cure that had failed only a few moments ago. Perhaps he had hoped that, having steeped, the mixture would be strong enough to work, and if the spasms could be controlled, then the terrible change that had come over Raistlin wouldn't happen again.

And maybe, if it worked, Raistlin would finally be able to speak and explain just what in the Abyss was going on.

It hadn't happened, and the cold clenching in his belly was as much dread for his lover's condition as fear for a reoccurrence. The look Raistlin had sent him when he'd approached only reinforced the feeling. It had been an expression of such desperation and pleading that it had sent a dagger of pain through Dalamar's already tattered heart, melting what anger had started to take hold there. The fear remained, locked in a block of ice. Yet, even that had thawed a little at the grateful smile that had crossed his lover's face when he saw what Dalamar was offering, not so much because of the gift itself as for the gesture. Raistlin must have feared that whatever had happened would have turned the Dark elf away from him for good. At that thought, Dalamar felt his lips twitch and he stroked the human's white hair. Foolishness.

His smile died quickly when he considered what had happened after that. The fear inside him had only grown from then on. The tea had done nothing for Raistlin's cough, and it had grown rapidly worse, until Raistlin had sunk into an exhuasted stupor, his body occasionally shuddering as another spasm racked him. His grip on Raistlin's hair tightened at the thought that if his lover's health continued to deteriorate, the sleep could all too easily become one from which he would never awaken. Prompted by the sickening pain the very notion caused, Dalamar pushed himself a little closer, drawing the human's head on his lap.

And yet... beyond that pain was the memory of those cold, dead eyes, and the thought that perhaps... just perhaps... an end might not be a bad thing. Dalamar dug his fingernails into his forehead as though to tear physically the thought from his mind, closing his eyes to shut it out.

As if prompted by those thoughts, Raistlin's body shook with a coughing fit. Gently, Dalamar tipped his head to one side so the human wouldn't choke on the blood filling his mouth. The red liquid trickled from his lips, staining the elf's robes a darker shade of black. A bitter smile dragging as his lips, Dalamar wiped the blood away with his sleeve, remembering how he had sat like this in the slave caravans, patiently caring for his ailing lover until every bone in his body screamed and his legs were numb from the human's weight.

Raistlin's skin burnt to the touch, indicating that the Red Robe was running a fever along with everything. Wonderful.

And things were not likely to improve, Dalamar mused sarcastically, hearing footsteps behind him. The only mercy was that they were not the hammer-thumps of Caramon's tread, coming to check on his brother for the hundredth time. The Dark elf hadn't believed it possible to draw so much noise from a marble floor, but the big man had proved him wrong.

"We're leaving." Tanis' voice stated flatly.

Dalamar didn't turn around, simply nodding. If this were any other place, he would have insisted they stay, that Raistlin was in no fit state to travel. But in this place, not even Caramon would argue, for none of them wanted to spend another night in Silvanesti. A sudden stab of guilt flew through him at the thought that he would desert his homeland, leave it like this. The exile forced the guilt away, ignoring the echo of the screams that still resonated through his connection with the land.

The Silvanesti had stripped the land bare before leaving, and Raistlin had the Dragon orb, so the mages had nothing to carry but what they had brought with them. Which was just as well; his lover was in no state to walk, and even now, Dalamar was not about to hand him over to the 'care' of his twin. He threw all their supplies and blankets into his pack, put their spellbooks and various magical implements in Raistlin's and strapped the Staff of Magius to his back. Tossing his pack to the big twin to carry -surely even that ox would be unable to break anything- he threw his friend's much lighter one over his shoulders, then knelt down to pick up the unconscious mage.

One arm under Raistlin's shoulders, the other beneath his legs, and Dalamar pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a little as he tried to balance the extra weight, for once glad that his lover was so thin. The human felt so light, and frighteningly warm, burning up with fever and trembling from the spasms. He stirred then, half-waking, hands closing on the black robes, as though afraid the Dark elf would leave him.

Slowly, carefully bracing the thin mage against his chest, the Dark elf followed the others as they led the way down the long corridor that took to the doors. It had been different in the Nightmare, an endless tunnel of green-stained water cumulating in the dream-memory of agonising pain. The Dark elf's shoulder ached in sympathy, and he looked down at Raistlin.

He had left him to die there. There had been nothing his lover could have done to save him, but he should have been there, like Dalamar would have been there had their positions been reversed. It would have been easier to understand had it not been so clearly the human wizard who had stood there. There had been no echo of the alien voice, no sign of the dead look in his eyes, no unknown factor, just Raistlin, his lover. And that same, dear lover had left him to die.

Whatever reasons Raistlin had, they had better be good ones.

Dalamar glanced back at the room they had just left. Whatever fell effect had come over him, it had started when they had entered this place. Hopefully, once they left it, the memories of the human's terrifying actions would join those of the Nightmare, to be forgotten and never to surface again. He clung to that thought as they walked, the hope that once this was over, once they had left this place behind, whatever had come over his lover would be left behind also, and once they were out, he would be able to speak again.

Tanis pushed the rotting doors open, letting in a stream of sickly sunlight. The sight of his ravaged homeland made the Dark elf wince and turn away, sickened with the irrational guilt that he should stay. That there must be _something_ he could do to heal the tortured land. The silent cries of the trees echoed in his soul, and still he turned away, crushing down the pain as he had always done and forcing it away, leaving his mind clear.

Alhana followed them as far as the door, Dalamar could feel her eyes on him. She didn't speak to him though, only exchanging a few terse words with Half-elven before leaving them, closing the crumbling door of the once proud Tower of the Stars behind her.

Dalamar looked away, scanning over the twisted trees and dying land. He could feel Tanis' eyes burning into his back, knew without looking what the Half-elf was thinking: With the princess staying here, he was the only one who could show them the quickest way out. And as much as the others didn't trust him, they knew that he hated to be here even more than they did and that with Raistlin's ailing health, he wouldn't lead them astray.

He heard Half-elven draw in the breath to speak and interrupted before he got the words out, "Yes."

A moment's silence. "Yes what?"

"What you were about to ask, yes. The very air you breathe is wasted on you, Half-human. Don't waste any more on useless words."

Even taking out his pain on the Half-elf seemed pointless and contrived, the very satisfaction muted and crushed, no gratification for the energy spent speaking. He felt weary, his very soul felt bruised, and even Raistlin's slight weight made his arms ache. Without waiting for the others to retort, he started off north, towards the district of House Gardener and out into the forest beyond.

Looking down the intended road, Dalamar found it hard to distinguish if this was real or just another facet of the Nightmare. The sunlight offered no respite from the memories, only highlighting everything that the empty night had covered. If it were still the dream, it would be easier to overlook the twisted remains of this district, the trees and plants the House had held so dear warped and defaced, their once-beautiful gardens now a place of horror. Here and there, there were some of the deformed animals, now thrashing in the last stages of slow death as the magic that had kept them alive faded.

Bad enough in the Nightmare, far worse in the light of day. And beyond the city would be the forest, and all the terrors they had left there. Though the animals were dying and the spectres were destroyed, to travel across those woods would be enough to daunt even the most fearless kender. It would take days to leave the twisted land behind, long days and longer nights, and the memories would follow them for much longer.

Dalamar would never have thought he would be glad to leave Silvanesti, but his connection with the land, so long lost, was filled with nothing but the pain of it and the guilt of leaving. As terrible as the journey would be, he knew that staying would be far worse. In that moment his mind cleared, brushing aside all his fears and guilt, focusing only of the need to get out, that anything else could wait until they were out.

The buildings were no longer shifting and warping. Instead, they had been frozen in their last forms, twisted drunkenly, some leaning against each other, and others having collapsed completely. The road they were on twisted between them, broken and overgrown in places as though it had been years and not months since it had been abandoned. And on either side, the houses and trees passed in a long parade of decay.

Had he been able to walk with his eyes closed, Dalamar would have done so. As it was, he clutched Raistlin tightly and kept his eyes on the half-melted cobbles in front of him not looking to the left or right. He could still see the faces in the stone. He knew this place, knew every inch of the city. To see it like this was terrible.

The gates were open when they reached them, the brambles that made them blackened and rotted. The gates that, at another time, could only be opened by house Woodshaper hung open, great rifts torn through the winding branches, some big enough for a dragon to crawl through.

For a moment the others stopped, starting first at the ruined gates, then at the wood behind, then at Dalamar.  
The Dark elf didn't react to the attention, staring at the trees. They were no longer screaming, though the sound echoed in his soul, but the whisper of wind in the branches seemed like the soft moans of the dying. They looked like the trees of Darken Wood, yet at the same time they were horribly familiar, the same trees he had walked through on countless errands, the same trees he had skulked through when he had sneaked out to study magic, and as hard as his life had been, nothing deserved what had been wrought on this place.

And none deserved to come back here. Alhana had mentioned that her people would return here, to try to heal the land, and again something inside the Dark elf screamed to join them, to help restore this place, and again he shoved it away. He would never be allowed to stay, and even if he was, what could he do? Not to mention that to do so would mean leaving Raistlin, and even now- especially now- that was something he would never do

For once, Dalamar was grateful to have been exiled, to have the freedom to leave this place forever. Better to leave and suffer the pain of exile than stay and deal with what was left. Though Lorac's death had seemed like cowardice, who was he to condemn him? True, he hadn't caused the Nightmare that still gripped the land. There was nothing he could have done, the Dark elf repeated to himself, nothing he could have done if he had not been exiled, and nothing he could do if he stayed.

It seemed ironic that the very thing he dreaded on arriving here was what he would feel when forced to leave, the fear that it would reopen wounds long closed. And now, he wanted nothing more than to leave this place, his very bond with the land screaming at him to leave, with only a begging guilt to urge him back. No, he would leave, and let those who exiled him experience what he had suffered.

He didn't speak to the others, simply ducking through one of the smaller holes in the tangled gate and starting to walk.

* * *

Unlike the Nightmare, which remained engraved in all their minds, Dalamar never remembered much of the long trek out of Silvanesti. The only thing he knew for certain was that it took two days of hard walking before they reached the edge of the trees. The Dark elf could never remember more than a few moments, and even those were vague and indistinct.

Mercifully so.

He remembered coming across the two-headed wolf that had savaged Caramon in the Nightmare, its dead body putrefying at a horrible rate, its dead eyes swarming with maggots, the air thick with the stench and the flies.

Raistlin had awakened at one point, he recalled, and tried to walk, but was unable to get far before another coughing fit shook him. Again, Dalamar had picked him up and carried him, and had seen how the trees closest to them seemed to twist away, like tortured beings crawling from their tormentor, bending and buckling away from the Dragon orb he carried.

Dalamar didn't have any memories of the nights, and again, he was thankful. Or perhaps he had simply been so exhausted by the endless walking that he just collapsed where he was and slept despite the horrific surroundings.The days blurred into an endless stream of death until he didn't even react to it, until the most dreadful horror couldn't drag out any emotion from him and he was left in a pool of dull numbness.

But slowly, as they moved further away from Silvanost, the land became less and less deformed. They were leaving the area of the Dragon orb's desolation behind. And quite suddenly, on the morning of the third day, they stepped out of the trees into a bare expanse of scorched earth and blackened trees.

Dalamar blinked, wondering if exhaustion and stress had him hallucinating. He knew the edge of the forest was still a good ten miles away. Then he realised what had happened: Alhana Starbreeze had told them when they met that Silvanesti was under attack, and this was what she must have meant. Burning thousands of acres was all too easy if one had red dragons.

A few scattered weapons and camp remains reinforced the theory, and for once the Dark elf was grateful to the Dragonarmies for the predations. Though the forest was less affected here than it had been further south, it was still terrible, and even the desolate landscape before him made a welcome respite.

It was colder now. The thick forest had stopped the chill wind that now cut them to the bone. Here and there, drifts of snow piled up against the charred trunks of trees. Beside him, able to walk for once, Raistlin coughed, leaning heavily on his staff. At another time, Dalamar would have gone to him, perhaps offering him his cloak. However, he couldn't allow himself to feel for his lover, had to lock his emotions up behind the same wall of ice his kept every other source of pain. To allow it out would be to invite more pain than he could currently deal with. It would have to wait, because only when he had time, could he take the feelings out and deal with them.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if his friend would make it that far, and no amount of ice could hold back the stab of pain that tore through him at that thought. The human mage could barely walk, and even now, on the edge of the elven wood, he was wracked with coughing, finally collapsing as the spasms threatened to tear him apart.

Wordlessly, Dalamar slid an arm around Raistlin's thin shoulders to help him up. When we're out, he told himself endlessly, despite the fact that they were out. Just a little further, and he'll be better. Then we can rest. Hanging on to the hope that when they had crossed the boundaries of Silvanesti, the shadow that had fallen on the human wizard would also vanish.

Yet... it seemed as though this might be the case. Since they had left Silvanost, Raistlin's condition had seemed to improve. He had been barely able to stand when they left, yet he was able to walk now. Not far, it was true, but perhaps -Dalamar clung to the hope- perhaps the further they went from heart of the Nightmare, the faster his friend would recover.

* * *

Now out of the forest, the companions were able to cover more ground, leaving Silvanesti behind and travelling further and further north. Hopefully, if they followed the coast, they would reach a port city. Although where they would go from there was anyone's guess. The desolation of the Dragonarmies lasted for several miles, making Dalamar wonder how many dragons the generals had at their command. More than had been used to raze Tarsis, that was certain. It was a dispiriting thought, and one not helped by the scarred, broken landscape.

Eventually they passed beyond where the boundaries of Silvanesti had once been, though the hedge that marked the territory and kept intruders out had long since been reduced to cinders. The land beyond was little more than savannah, bare land stretching up to the Bay of Balifor.

The only encouragement Dalamar had in the entire situation was that it appeared he had been right: Whatever had happened to Raistlin had been tied to the Nightmare, because the human mage was getting steadily better the further they went from Silvanesti. His recovery was slow, and several times in the last few days he had been forced to stop and accept the Dark elf's assistance, but at least he no longer had to be carried, which was just as well since the terrain was getting rougher.

Despite the improvement, Raistlin was clearly still having problems speaking. His voice was hoarse and rasping, the very sound making Dalamar wince in sympathy. The human mage avoided speech, as even a few words could be enough to trigger another coughing fit. Yet, this was something that seemed to bother the Red Robe far less than it bothered the elf. If his throat hadn't healed by now, who was to say it ever would? And if speaking was hard, voicing a spell would be impossible. Had the Dark elf been in Raistlin's place, he wouldn't be nearly as composed. But perhaps he was wrong, and he certainly hoped he was. Only his lover really understood what had happened to him, and possibly, he knew that whatever was affecting his voice would pass.

The thought that his lover might have faked his fit had been discarded long ago; not even Raistlin could put on such an act and for so long. There was, of course, the possibility that the trouble with his voice was the pretence, that he was playing it up to avoid admitting whatever truth he had promised to tell Dalamar, but again, this seemed unrealistic. If the Red Robe was acting, then what would he do if they were attacked? Not to mention that such a pretence couldn't be carried on forever.

He would give Raistlin until they reached the coast to speak, and he would demand answers himself.

* * *

In fact, Dalamar didn't have to wait that long. On their seventh day out of Silvanost, Raistlin broached the topic himself.

It was evening, and they were setting up camp for the night. Tanis had called on them to decide where they were going from here. "We're going to try and reach the coast, and hopefully find a port from where we can catch a ship across the bay to Balifor. But where do we go from there?"

Silence greeted these words, and the Dark elf's lip curled. What did Half-human expect? They'd go where he told them to, like good little dogs. It was useless to ask them where to go when he'd always made the decisions for them. As for himself and Raistlin, as far as he knew they would just tag along, seeing as there wasn't anywhere else to go. He'd guessed right. Raistlin didn't speak, though whether he'd wanted to conserve his voice or because he really didn't have an opinion was debatable.

Finally Goldmoon spoke, "How can we decide? We have no idea what might be happening there. But there might be those in Balifor that would know. I say we decide once we've arrived."

Tanis nodded. "Agreed, but I still think we should head north. By all accounts, that's where the Dragonarmies are massing, and where opposition to them will be strongest. If we could reach Solamnia..."

The bearded warrior trailed off, lost in thought, and Dalamar turned away. Solamnia, lovely. The only Solamnic he had ever met was Sturm Brightblade, and that was quite enough, thank you.

Finally, the Half-elf shook himself. "But you're right, Goldmoon, let's find out what's happening there before we decide. For all we know the whole north could be overrun."

"How are we doing for money?" Caramon asked, looking troubled. "Would we have enough to pay for passage?"

"If we can even find a port," Riverwind put in. "The dragons have been here, there might be nothing left." The memory of his ruined village clearly still plagued him.

Raistlin shook his head. "They would not do that," he whispered, his voice surprisingly smooth. "They would need the ports to send supplies, they would not burn them." The human broke off, his voice cracking, and took another sip of tea.

Tanis didn't speak for a moment, the truth of the human mage's words warring with hid distrust, then he nodded. "But if this is true, the ports will be under their command. We might find it hard to buy passage, and the fares will be steep."

There was another pause, their finances were meagre, it would be barely enough at the best of times, and now it would probably only cover one or two fares With a sigh, every instinct warring against it but knowing that if he didn't he and Raistlin would most likely end up marooned on this side of the sea, Dalamar reached into a pocket of his robes and drew out a small sapphire, the last of the jewels he had taken from the black dragon's hoard in Xak Tsaroth so long ago. With a second, longer sigh, he tossed it at Tanis. "This should cover the fares," he growled.

Half-elven blinked. No doubt he'd been about to ask where he had found the gem, but one look at the Dark elf's expression changed his mind.

There was no more to say, and the group dispersed, turning back to their various activities. Dalamar was debating turning in early -he was tired and perhaps tomorrow would be a better day- when Raistlin's hand closed on his shoulder, urging him away from the firelight.

Heart beating faster, wondering if his lover would at last fulfil the promise to explain what was going on, Dalamar followed eagerly.

Once they were far enough away that they couldn't be overheard, Raistlin sat down on the scrubby winter grass and motioned for his friend to do the same. Sitting there, staring at the human's shadowed face, lit by the barest golden gleam from the distant fire, Dalamar felt the wall of ice around his emotions crack the slightest amount, and he nodded at his lover, prompting him to start.

Raistlin took a sip of his tea, clearly hoping that the mixture would help him through his words. Even so, by the look on his face, the human was finding it hard to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than it had been by the fire. "I can't tell you what you want to know," he said finally, raising a hand to stave off the elf's immediate angry retort. "I want to tell you." His voice broke and he swallowed hard, fighting back a coughing fit. "And I know you find this hard to believe, but I do want to-" He broke off, coughing. He forced down a mouthful of tea and continued. "I'm under... a curse of sorts, which means I can't tell you what is going on." He looked at his companion, and the Dark elf saw in his face the same, desperate look he had seen in the Tower of the Stars, and felt the ice around his heart crumble a little more. It had been easy to force his emotions aside when there had been something to focus on, but now he couldn't keep them away. He never could when Raistlin was the one they concerned.

He could see how badly the Red Robe wanted him to believe him, and he did want to. He wanted to reassure his lover that yes, he did believe him, that he was here and wouldn't leave. He wanted to say wherever was necessary for Raistlin's face to lose the pained, desperate look it had now. But he couldn't, for the same reason it always was: That despite everything, despite his love for the human mage, he could not trust him. Especially after what had happened in the Nightmare. It was too dangerous. Therefore, he was silent.

Raistlin closed his eyes, as if pained. "I understand, but believe me, I want to speak. It's just I'm not-" Again he broke off, coughing. "-not allowed," he finished, croaking. He drew in a ragged breath. "I will be able to soon," he added, his voice easing a little. "Or at least, I think I will. I've fought it this far." Seeing the Dark elf about to interrupt, Raistlin shook his head. "Dalamar, I want to tell you the truth. I've wanted to since Silvanesti, so much that I've almost forgotten what it was I was trying to say." He gave a forced smile, which the elf didn't return.

It was hard, so hard, his love for the young mage battering through the walls of ice he had built to keep it out. It was too dangerous to think with his heart, especially now. Raistlin had left him to die once. The next time he might have a hand in it. but... no. Not Raistlin, never. He could never believe that, any more than he could believe the sun would rise in the west. The barrier broke, and suddenly he was struggling back tears, gritting his teeth against everything that had happened in the last few days. Returning to Silvanesti, the Nightmare, Raistlin's betrayal, the destruction of his once-homeland, everything.

When he spoke, his voice broke just as his lover's had. "Raistlin," he whispered, not caring how he sounded. "Please tell me." Something, anything. Enough so I can reconcile trusting you just a little longer. Whatever was affecting his lover was no spell; Dalamar knew that. "Tell me," he whispered insistently. "I need to know. What happened to you, why can't you speak?"

He stopped. Words were inadequate. Instead, he stared at Raistlin, silently imploring him to speak.

And Raistlin tried. Nuitari help him, he tried. He swallowed the last of his tea and started speaking quickly, as though desperate to get the words out. "I have to fight. He-"

He didn't cough, it was worse than that. It was as though a noose had been tightened around Raistlin's throat, and Dalamar wondered if the shadows themselves were strangling him. His face contorted, as though struggling against something unseen, and the Dark elf's mind recalled that moment in the Nightmare when the human spoke to something that only he could see.

Finally, it vanished, and Raistlin gasped in air before coughing again.

Dalamar didn't move, only watching as his lover slowly regained control of himself. "Who is 'he'?" he asked through numb lips.

Raistlin shook his head, one hand still covering his mouth, for a moment the night was silent save for his rough gasps. "I can't say," he croaked. "But I will." Grim determination glimmered in his golden eyes. "I can't yet, but I will. Please believe me."

Nuitari forgive me, Dalamar thought, but I do. It was impossible not to. He had seen the look on Raistlin's face, seen how desperate he was for the elf to believe him, to risk even more pain for the sake of a few words. It was absurdly ridiculous, his mind screamed, he couldn't risk trusting, he had been left to die once already, but he was unable to believe that Raistlin had been lying.

Finally, Dalamar reached out and touched his lover's hand, fingers closing around his fist.

The human mage wiped the blood from his lips with his free hand before lying it against the elf's, a weak smile on his face.

Somehow, Dalamar had thought that when he would finally succeed in trusting Raistlin, he would feel safer. Nevertheless, right now, he felt more vulnerable than ever, and just as frightened.

_As always, I love reviews._

_Skull Bearer._


	9. To Deliver

_Myar: I love Raistlin too, but unfortunately thing's aren't going to be easy on him (in other words, I'm evil). Thank so much for agreeing to beta this._

_phoenix647: I liked writing that too, that's more or less my own take on Tanis there. That character annoys me to no end._

_ksha2222: Heh, well, wait and see. Thank you._

_Dracoqueen22: Cheers! I've got the story pretty much hammered out, and I have no intention of stopping, it's just been a bad time recently :(_

_Scribbles Editor: It's fun to write, and even better to know people have enjoyed it. Thank you._

_Tara Dawn: Thank you. It does get hard, I went begging on the whooshmeraist LJ group from Raistlin/Dalamar fic and pic, I was feeling pretty low. Anyway, things are looking up, and here's chapter 9._

_Again, apologies for the long wait. I didn't have a coherent idea of how to write the next few chapters and it took a while to sort out, plus, it's not been a good time recently.  
Anyway, things are looking better and I've worked out what's going to happen, so the next chapter shouldn't take so long. Enjoy the fic and thanks to Myar for the beta._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Nine- To Deliver

_In transit you pass among the strangers of the world  
Paying tribute to the thief who stole away your shadow  
You look into the bedrock and listen to the bells  
Calling liquid lust, call for solid white.  
Stalker, Kovenant_

It had been like breaking through a fog, that first time in the slave caravans. A sudden return to consciousness as the world snapped into focus. It had been slower this time, a fight for every step, slowly unravelling Fistandantilus' influence, all the time driving the creature back, throwing up walls to force him back into the shadows he came from.

And it was over.

It had been so hard, hard enough that Raistlin wondered what power Fizban could have had to make the lich withdraw so fast that first time. It had taken long, torturous days to start re-asserting control, and even longer before he had recovered from his cough enough to walk.

Like in the slave caravans, Raistlin had few memories of the past four days, for which he was thankful. By the grim look he had seen on Dalamar's face when he had awoken, he hadn't missed much.

What memories he had were of the struggle that had taken place within his own mind. He had broken Fistandantilus' control in Silvanesti, but the lich had refused to back down without a fight, dragging more and more energy from him. Not enough to kill- clearly the lich didn't want that -yet- but enough to trigger a coughing fit every bit as powerful as the one he had suffered in the slave caravans, and this time, his tea didn't help.  
Fistandantilus had proven quite capable of overcoming the relief the mixture granted him.

The lich hadn't bothered to hide the reason for his sudden attack, it had been obvious. Even when the first spasms racked him, Raistlin could feel the first probing tendrils of the creature's power, trying to break through his mental defences and seize control again.

But the physical pain had only strengthened them, making him all the more determined to withstand the shattering assault of Fistandantilus' rage, refusing to let his physical distress distract him. It was more than his cough, the sudden attack on his system had left him sick and dizzy, and the ongoing mental battle only made things worse. By the time they both retreated- Raistlin to collapse into exhausted sleep, Fistandantilus to regain spent energy- the young mage could feel the first tell-tale signs of fever.

He had snatched a bare few hours of sleep, only to be awoken when Fistandantilus launched a new attack.  
It had been like his struggle to regain control, only this time the roles were reversed and he was defending. Yet perhaps because this was his body or because he was the stronger, Raistlin found himself with the upper hand in the mental conflict. No matter how bad his fever was or how terrible his cough, he didn't let it break his concentration. The harder the lich attacked, the more stubbornly Raistlin fought back.

The days passed in a haze, the bone-aching pain the only constant in the battle of wills. Lucid moments were rare, and Raistlin could recall few of them. He did, however, remember that despite everything that happened recently, both in the Nightmare and after it, it had been Dalamar who had carried him out of the tortured land when he had been too weak to walk. The knowledge fueled his determination to win, giving him the strength to push the lich back.

One by one, Fistandantilus' assaults were spent on the implacable wall of Raistlin's will, and the lich's careful probes found no weak spots in his mind. Finally, after an uncountable time, the attacks slowly ceased, Fistandantilus clearly realising that no matter what he did, he was not strong enough to win this fight.

But that wasn't enough. The memories of the Nightmare were more than enough to convince Raistlin that simply having control was no victory at all. He had fought Fistandantilus off twice already, but the lich would be constantly waiting for another chance. Raistlin might not be able to rid himself of the creature's foul presence, but he could throw him back into the shadows, and build up enough mental barriers to hold him there. And hopefully, one day, he would be able to dispose of the lich forever.

Slowly, he had driven Fistandantilus back, forcing him to retreat. It had been difficult, but he had known it must work. For Dalamar and himself, it had to.

And it had. He'd had self and will enough to first force the lich back, then start to built up barriers against the creature's influence.

That it had worked at all had been surprising, Raistlin knew he was skilled and strong minded, but to have prevailed over Fistandantilus, unarguably the most powerful mage to have ever lived... it had been then that he had started to suspect that the lich was not as powerful as Raistlin had first feared. He doubted he could have repulsed the creature had Fistandantilus possessed the power and knowledge of his living self. Not that the lich was weak, nor was he completely trapped yet, but Raistlin was starting to regain confidence in his own control. It had been enough to repulse Fistandantilus twice already, and it would be enough to trap him and keep him from attempting to possess him again.

At the thought, Raistlin's lip curled, Fistandantilus, the crippled ghost of one long-dead, trapped in the mind of one he tried to ensnare. A sorry end for the most powerful mage that ever lived. But a fitting and- if Raistlin was successful- permanent one.

The defences he had created to hold Fistandantilus back were still weak, and while he had regained the strength to walk, most of his focus still had to be directed inwards, and speaking was a feat still mostly beyond him, however much he longed to do so.

* * *

Despite his distance with the world, he would have had to be blind not to notice the way he was regarded by the other companions, Dalamar in particular.  
Raistlin knew that even though the Dark elf had carried him, the frail trust between them had not been rebuilt, quite the opposite in fact. He knew Dalamar well enough to know when the Dark elf was refusing to face something. He had obviously not let himself think of what happened during and after the Nightmare until they were out of Silvanesti, but sooner or later he would demand answers.

It had been because of this that Raistlin had spoken first. That, and the hope that if he broached the silence first, Dalamar would be more likely to believe him. He felt a coil of guilt at how he had treated the Dark elf when he had asked, so many times before. Yes, he had wanted to spare his lover the knowledge, but how much of it had been that, and how much Fistandantilus' own influence and his own petty jealousy?

No, he had to talk to Dalamar, and as soon as he had been able to speak, he had done so. It had taken longer than he would have liked, they were days out of Silvanesti until he could force enough control to speak more than a few words.

It had been so terribly hard, to want to tell everything and yet know he was unable to, and when Dalamar had looked at him, all but pleading for the truth, he had tried even that. It had been too much, seeing the desperation in the elf's grey eyes, Dalamar wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly that it had overcome the elf's usual doubt and suspicion, and the sight of it had torn holes in Raistlin's heart.

So he had tried, speaking as fast as he could, yet he had only been able to choke a few words out before his throat had closed. Fistandantilus had still enough power to control what he said, the knowledge sending cold, impotent fury through him.

It didn't matter though, Dalamar had believed him. He was still unsure and suspicious, but the Dark elf knew him well enough to understand that he wasn't acting, and that he had honestly tried to tell him the truth.  
The look on his lover's face was one that Raistlin was not about to forget, but nor did he want to. Through all the suspicion and doubt of the last few months, there had been tentative trust in the Dark elf's eyes. Trust, and fear, because Dalamar had to know that if Raistlin wasn't in control of his actions, who was? And by what the human mage had been able to force out before Fistandantilus stopped him, the Dark elf knew it was some_one_ rather than some_thing_.

What Dalamar knew was clearly of no comfort to him. And the look on his face when he had taken Raistlin's hand had been more than enough to convince the human mage- as though he needed more convincing- that he had to keep fighting. Hopefully soon he would be strong enough to block Fistandantilus, not even completely, just enough to give himself time to deliver to Dalamar the full story, as promised.

The Dark elf deserved to be repaid for the trust he had shown him, especially since Raistlin knew how hard he'd had to fight back his instincts to do so. He hadn't expected it himself, and had been stunned when Dalamar's hand had closed over his. At most he'd hoped for acceptance, however suspicious and unconvinced. This clear declaration of trust had been almost too much to be believed.

They sat in silence for a long time, their hands still joined, lost in their own thoughts. And it was only now that Raistlin stirred. The night was getting cold and he wasn't as recovered as he would have liked. Besides, they had a long road still ahead of them and had suffered through the even longer one behind them. Sleep would be dearly welcomed.

Dalamar looked up as he stood, the elf's grey eyes dark in the faint light of Solinari. Raistlin inclined his head invitingly towards the camp, and the Dark elf got to his feet and followed.

The others were already asleep by the time they got back, save for Tika who was on watch. Raistlin undid their bedroll and stretched it out, then stared as Dalamar shook his head and took one of the blankets, walking over to lie down a little way off.

"Dalamar?"

The Dark elf shook his head, and Raistlin felt a deep stab of pain. He trusted him all right, trusted him well enough to feel that sleeping together simply wasn't safe any more.  
And, with a second, worse stab, Raistlin realised that he might well be right. Should Fistandantilus find some way of breaking free of the barriers the young mage had caged him with, and succeed in gaining control, he might well decide that harming- or even killing!- Dalamar would be an adequate punishment for Raistlin's disobedience. His skin crawled at the thought, and he thought he felt the lich laugh.

No, Dalamar was quite right not to feel safe, Raistlin didn't either.  
But the realisation was poor compensation for the loss as he climbed under the blankets alone. He and Dalamar had slept together for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep alone. Colder, for one thing-

Raistlin sat up, picked his cloak off the ground and leaned out to drape it over the Dark elf. With only one blanket and his own cloak, the Dark elf must be freezing.

Dalamar looked around and gave him a small, tired smile, but Raistlin felt in no state to return it. He gave a short nod, and curled up in his bedroll, hoping sleep would come soon.

* * *

It did, Raistlin had been so tired that he had fallen asleep almost the moment his eyes closed. If he had any dreams, they had all flown and been forgotten come morning, because the next thing Raistlin realised, it was dawn. 

By day, the land around them didn't look any better, despite being only on the edge of the desert of Khur, it was parched and dry, with only a few trees and dying grasses breaking the monotony of dust.

Raistlin didn't speak as he helped Dalamar pack up, the Dark elf looked tired and clearly hadn't slept well, although whether that had been due to the revelations of the previous evening, or because of the cold and hard ground, Raistlin didn't know. He gave his lover a small smile and the Dark elf smiled back weakly.

There was little talk as they set off again, heading east towards the coast in the hopes of finding a port, and there, a boat to take them across the sea to Balifor.

Mercifully they had gone no more than a few leagues across the blasted landscape before they saw the first glimmers of the sea. Somewhat heartened, they reached the shore by mid afternoon. Although there was no sign of any settlement nearby, they did find an old beaten track running north.

The land was slightly more fertile so close to the sea, though many of the trees and plants were salt-choked and half buried in sand flying from the north. The town they came to was little better.

Raistlin guessed it was one of the few ports dotting the shore of the Khur desert. It was small enough that the Dragonarmies had clearly passed it over in favour of better targets, so small, in fact, that the human mage suspected it didn't even feature on the Highlord's maps.

Small as it was, the port did have a fishing fleet, and a few boats adapted to sailing across the Bay of Balifor. Despite this, it took Dalamar's sapphire, plus most of their remaining funds, to convince one of the owners to take them across to Balifor.

The dull hours spent first waiting overnight for the sloop to be prepared, and then actually traversing in it were a welcome respite from the fear and horror of the last two weeks. Raistlin stayed near the stern, sitting against the wall, wrapped in his cloak and occasionally shivering from the cold southern winds that blew across the bay. Dalamar sat next to him, a look of concern in his eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

Raistlin nodded reassurance, drawing his hood over his head. It had seemed so long ago that such questions from the Dark elf irritated him, and now he treasured the reminder that Dalamar still cared about him.

As if to help dispel any doubts, the Dark elf slid an arm around Raistlin's shoulders, the human mage sighed and leaned into the welcome contact. He smiled at Dalamar, and the Dark elf nodded, then sighed. "I-"

Raistlin shook his head before Dalamar could continue. They had said everything that could be said yesterday, and going over it again would not make any better.

This time it was the elf that smiled. "I was going to ask if you had any ideas for how we could get any money. This crossing's cost us just about all we had."

Raistlin laughed, then coughed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. No, I don't have any ideas, you're usually the one who thinks of those things."

Dalamar nodded, "For once, I don't really know. Were we on our own, we might be able to make do, but you're right," He continued, seeing Raistlin about to speak, "It would be suicide to split up at this point. If this last port wasn't overrun by the Dragonarmies, Balifor will most certainly be. We have better chance together than apart, despite the problem of finances."

In spite of the situation, Raistlin couldn't hold back his smile, for Dalamar, who was so independent, to admit that they might actually need help was sure sign that they were in a bad position.

* * *

The sloop reached Balifor late that afternoon, the sun was setting and the temperature steadily dropping. Raistlin was shivering by the time they stepped ashore, and his good humour earlier had disappeared when he had seen how little steel they really had. Enough for a meal and a bed tonight, but after that they would have to sleep rough. 

Worse, Raistlin quickly saw that Dalamar had been quite right in assuming the Dragonarmies had taken Balifor, while the city was still standing, it was also completely crawling with draconians. While the misshapen creatures paid none of them no attention, it was nerve racking to be so close to the creatures that had nearly killed both him and Dalamar on several occasions.

They spent quite a while searching the shorefront of Balifor, finally coming upon a tavern that didn't seem too busy or expensive, best of all, there were no draconians there.  
The inside of the 'Pig and Whistle' was dark, but clean, and there were only a handful of patrons there, all weather-beaten sailors. Neither they, nor the pig-faced innkeeper did more than mutter amongst themselves as they went in, which was a relief.

The innkeep- who's odd features no doubt gave the tavern at least part of it's name, and who introduced himself as William Sweetwater- showed them to a table near the back, and asked if they required anything.

"Ale for us." Tanis ordered, settling in one of the chairs.

"And hot water." Raistlin added, he collapsed in a chair opposite the Half-elf and pushed another out for Dalamar. The Dark elf took it, nodding thanks, and sat next to him.

Tanis took of the battered leather purse which held what was left of their funds, and emptied it out. Raistlin sighed at the miserable amount that fell out. He'd been right, enough for a meal and perhaps rooms for the night, but nothing else.  
"Bread and cheese then," Caramon said gloomily. Tanis sighed and looked up at innkeeper, who nodded.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one wanted to add anything, William Sweetwater nodded again and bustled back to the bar.

When he came back, he brought not only bread and cheese, but also a platter of cold meats, and gruffly told them to put their money away, since they were 'clearly in trouble of some kind, and that's as plain as this pig's snout on my face.'

Riverwind refused, shoving his coins back at the innkeeper.

"We're in a bad enough situation as it is," Dalamar growled at the Plainsman, then turning to William, "Thank you for the offer, it is much appreciated."

Riverwind's eyes narrowed, "We'll not accept charity."

The Dark elf sneered, "Then starve"  
He brushed the coins away, sending them dancing over the tabletop.

Raistlin picked up one of the coins as it rolled towards him, it was one from the Dragonarmies, and the human mage suspected it would be best to pay with something else, as he doubted the people here took too kindly to anyone aligned with the draconians overrunning their town. He tossed it back in the purse and took another, this one from Tarsis. Idly, he flicked it through his fingers as he thought over their current situation.

Even though it was winter, food might not be such a problem, since both Tanis and Riverwind were skilled at hunting. He and Dalamar could do fairly well too, after five years as mercenaries they were good at foraging. The main problem, other than lack of shelter- which in deep winter and this far south, could be dangerous- was travelling. If Balifor was under the control of the Dragon Highlords, then so would the lands to the north and, probably, east. He had hoped to have enough money to bribe their way past the patrols and checks they would inevitably encounter, but if they didn't... it wouldn't take long until a particularly shrewd captain realised they were the same group that had caused all the trouble in Abanasinia, and then it would be the end for all of them.

Raistlin's train of thought was abruptly derailed at the sudden realisation that he had an audience. He had been toying absent-mindedly with the coin, bouncing it from knuckle to knuckle, then along his fingers, finally flicking it to his other hand to repeat the performance.

It was easy enough for him, Dalamar had once teased him that he was as light-fingered and deft as any kender- a jibe that got him an elbow in the ribs-, but it was enough to catch the attention of not only the innkeeper, but two of his patrons.

An idea forming in his mind, Raistlin kept bouncing the coin along the fingers of one hand, quietly weaving a cantrip with the other. His audience didn't notice.  
With a quick flick of his wrist, the human mage finished the spell, and the coin appeared to leap high in the air, when in fact Raistlin had deftly slipped it into his free hand. His audience stared as the illusionary coin vanished, then reappeared with five of it's fellows, spinning around the mage's hood. With a quick gesture and a smile, Raistlin sent them twirling around the balding head of the innkeep, who was staring at the spectacle open-mouthed.

"Take one for your trouble," Raistlin whispered easily, as if flying coins were all in a day's work. And once, they had been. He had worked as an illusionist before, and had often performed such tricks.

William Sweetwater blinked nervously, but egged on by his fellows, he tried to grab a coin, only to have his hand pass straight through it. The illusion vanished, as Raistlin knew it would, and the coins vanished instantly.

The human mage smiled again, and held out the real coin, "I give you this as payment, but be careful. It may burn a hole in your pocket." With that he tossed it at the innkeep.

William caught it, then yelped as it seemed to catch fire, blue and green flames licking hungrily from the battered steel. With a gasp, he dropped it, stamping on it to put out the flames as his patrons roared with laughter.

Raistlin dispelled the magic with a quick wave of his hand and the flames went out, leaving the coin perfectly whole and undamaged. William picked it up with a sheepish smile.  
"That's worth the meat!" He laughed, waving it at the group.

"And a night's lodgings!" One of the patrons put in slapping down a few more coins with a grin. Enough for rooms for the night, and more. And there would _be_ more where that came from, if Raistlin had any say in the matter.

Raistlin's looked around at the others. Dalamar was hiding a smile of his own behind his sleeve, looking impressed, while Tanis and the rest just looked astonished.

"I think." Raistlin said, with a touch of self-satisfaction, "That we have solved our problems."

_Skull Bearer._


	10. Interlude Sleep

_Sorry for the insanely long delay, but I've been having to deal with a fair bit of RL shit, moving back to London, work, homophobic bigots as collegues, the list goes on. The next few chapters have been drafted out and I'm a good way through chapter 10, anyway, he's a nice bit of smut to tide you over. :)_

_Like most of my interludes, this is rated 'R'_

_Dalamar Nightson: And here's the smut to further lighten the mood ;)_

_Tara Dawn: I loved that part too, and although my Raistlin is much happier than his canon counterpart (although he'd disagree if you asked him), he and Dalamar do need this break._

_ksha2222 aGoddess on her knees: Dragons of an Hourglass Mage! I bounced for hours when I saw that title! We won't have to wait long for more raistlin though, Dragons of Dwarven Depths will have him there (it had better). It appears that Wiess and Hickman have realised that /no one/ likes their fifth age rubbish and folded to public demands: Raistlin, Raistlin and more Raistlin._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: I liked that line too, and Fistandantilus is a great character. He's so unredeemably evil that someone's given him a Livejournal!_

_Dragonqueen22: Thanks, sorry for the delay, but the bunnies needed to to adjust._

**Nocturnale **

Interlude- Sweet Sleep

_Following the footsteps  
Of a rag doll dance  
We are entranced  
Spellbound  
Spellbound, Siouxie and the Banshees_

It was the middle of the night, and the room Raistlin shared with Dalamar was pitch black.

The human mage turned irritably in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position. He was exhausted and it was late, yet sleep was proving elusive. By all rights, he should be asleep by now, he thought bitterly. He and Dalamar had put on a performance that evening and the exertions had been enough to drain him of what little stamina he possessed. By the end, he'd been looking forward to falling into bed, even without his lover.

It had been Dalamar who had ordered their room in the _Pig and Whistle_, but he had made it quite clear to his lover that he didn't want them to sleep together. As much as Raistlin understood why the Dark elf wanted them to sleep apart, it was little consolation. Even so, at first, Raistlin hadn't disputed the point, although it made him feel sick to his bones. But as the days passed and his defences against Fistandantilus became stronger, and it became clear that the lich simply didn't possess the power to control him so easily, the red-robed human wondered if Dalamar's fears might be going a little too far. The thoughts made the loss even more poignant.

With a tired sigh, Raistlin tried to banish his thoughts. Perhaps if he emptied his mind of all thought, he might get some sleep. The effort was a fruitless one, and his mind kept running over the same old paths it had for the past few hours. It was incredibly exasperating; he_ needed_ sleep, they would put on another show tomorrow, and it wouldn't exactly pull in the crowds if he was to fall asleep halfway through a performance, although it would probably look somewhat entertaining.

He lay back with a sigh, staring up into the suffocating blackness of the room. While the windows might not fit, the shutters did, and not a chink of outside light could creep in. Eyes opened, eyes closed, it made no difference. When one can't see, the other senses become very acute, and while the inn was dark, it wasn't exactly quiet. Raistlin could hear people clearing up downstairs, the tromp of feet outside, Caramon's loud snores in the room across from theirs.

Dalamar gave a sigh, and rolled over. Raistlin could hear the frame of his bed creak. The bedclothes rustled and the human mage wondered if he wasn't the only one unable to sleep. He was about to speak when the elf gave a soft groan, followed by the slick sounds of flesh against flesh.

The Red Robe felt his cheeks burn, torn between the urge to pull the pillow over his head to shut out the sound and give his lover some privacy, and the sudden desire to listen. After all, it was nothing he hadn't heard before -although admittedly he had been participating at the time- and if anyone had the right to listen in, he did.

Another groan, slightly louder this time, ending in a low sigh, and the soft sounds of skin rubbing against skin increased. Raistlin closed his eyes as his mind painted an erotic picture of what the darkness hid from him. Dalamar lying on his back, legs spread wide in invitation, aroused and aching, running one hand over his erection. Raistlin shuddered and bit back a moan. The elf had no such qualms, letting his breath out in a low hiss, the sound now slightly ragged.

He'd be stroking himself in time with his breathing, Raistlin's mind teased, running those ever-so skilled hands up as he inhaled, then down as the air left his lungs. His eyes would be closed, his head thrown back, his lips swollen like they always are when he slides into you, no matter how much you've been kissing.

The human bit a corner of his pillow, sliding one hand down his own body without thinking, then snatching it back. Another gasp, a hiss, that low, growling hum he did when he's getting close to the edge.

"Ah..." A soft sigh of pleasure.

Raistlin's mouth was dry, struggling with the urge to join Dalamar in bed, or quietly explain to the Dark elf that he just needed to _ask _and that yes, he would be perfectly happy to help him with his little problem.

Another sigh. His skin would be slick with sweat at this point, his covers clinging to him and leaving nothing to the imagination. He'd be digging his nails into his flesh about now too, that one point when he liked a little pain, not so hard as to draw blood, but enough so the pain mixed with the pleasure in a way the elf always seemed to find delicious.

Another gasp, harder, and again Raistlin's imagination teased him with images of what he couldn't see. He'd be shaking slightly, perhaps arching up a little. His eyes would be closed, teeth gritted, the muscles in his neck taut. The red wizard bit his lip, remembering how often he had nibbled his way down the elf's throat in moments like this.

Dalamar would be close now, and if the hands on him had been Raistlin's, the human mage would have slid down and taken the Dark elf's erection into his mouth, and this time he was unable to repress a shiver at the memory of the sounds Dalamar usually made at that point.

"Ah... oh." A deep hiss. "Raistlin..."

For a shocked moment, the human wondered if the elf had caught him eavesdropping, then he understood. He felt his face burn, the white-hot burn of arousal blazing up his spine and Dalamar gave another, deeper groan, murmuring his name again. It was unbelievable erotic, and Raistlin clenched his fists against the urge to climb into the Dark elf's bed. He _wanted_ Dalamar every bit as much as the other mage wanted him, and it seemed the height of stupidity to hold back. But still...

Raistlin stared over at Dalamar's bed. This was going too far. He understood the Dark elf's fears -he felt the same- but this separation was becoming a torment.

As if in agreement, there was a rustle of bedclothes and a loud gasp as the Dark elf reached the edge and slid over it. Raistlin bit his lip at the image the sounds evoked; Dalamar, skin shining with sweat, alternately grinding his teeth and opening his mouth to gasp, muscles straining under the force of his release.

The Red Robe lay quite still, his body burning and his hands itching to touch the Dark elf as his lover's breathing slowed. There was another rustle as Dalamar rolled over, no doubt attempting to go to sleep.

Sleep was the last thing of Raistlin's mind as he lay there in the dark, staring over at the elf's bed. He was achingly aroused and longed to touch and be touched.

He sighed; they really needed to reconsider their sleeping arrangements. As it was, it would probably be best to take a leaf from Dalamar's book, he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

He waited until the Dark elf's breathing had slowed into sleep, smiling ruefully up at the ceiling. His hands made quick work of the old robes he slept in, sliding down his body to close on his erection.

He didn't bother teasing himself; he was tired and lonely, and just wanted to take care of this so he could get to sleep. Raistlin's mind easily recalled the images of Dalamar's pleasure, and he smiled, letting his head fall back as he stroked himself in time with his breathing. The almost painful ache of his arousal changed to a slow, delicious burn. A familiar sensation, although the human had rarely had to evoke it himself, Dalamar was usually more than happy to do that.

Raistlin closed his eyes, moving faster; he had been close to begin with, and wasn't in the mood to draw this out any longer than he had to. The sweet ache was building in the pit of his belly, and he shivered, thin muscles tightening as the edge approached.

The shuddered again, then arched back as he climaxed with a gasp, hot seed spilling over his hands. The cold air hit his lungs with such force that he nearly started coughing again, and for a moment he stared up at the ceiling, fighting back a spasm and breathing hard.

Finally, the tightness passed, and he relaxed. He usually felt tired after sex, and self-pleasuring was no exception. He closed his eyes, the covers sticking into his damp skin as he rolled over.

The room was quiet, and for a moment, Raistlin wondered if something was off, then he noticed that Dalamar wasn't breathing, and as the human mage listened, he heard the Dark elf roll over abruptly, facing away from him.

Raistlin buried his face in the pillow, feeling his face burn. Apparently, Dalamar hadn't been as sound asleep as he'd hoped, and he hadn't been the only one eavesdropping.

They definitely needed to talk about their sleeping arrangements.

_Skull Bearer._


	11. To Relieve

_Shadow Valkyrie: -speechless- I... thank you... I can't tell you how great it is when someone tells you something like this. It's readers like yourself like this that make this story really worth telling, because I'm not writing for myself anymore._

_Dalamar Nightson: Hope you'll enjoy this better._

_Tsukiyo no Yume: Yep, Dragons of an Hourglass mage, out July 2008. You don't have to wait that long though, there's a new story out- Dragons of Dwarven Depths, it's pure fanservice with a lot of Raistlin :)_

_Dracoqueen22: More yum here. Thanks._

_x.PawPrints.x: As I said, here you go._

_ksha: Thanks ;)._

_Again, sorry for the delay, and many hugs to everyone who reviewed and particularly to my beta Chetwynd._

_This chapter is- oh what the hell, I'll should just change the warnings to R-rated anyway, it's pretty damn graphic!_

**Nocturnale**

Chapter ten: To Relieve

_Burn, burn the station  
We'll burn it down  
Burn, burn the truth  
Enjoy the flames  
In celebration  
Enjoy the sound  
For us, for them, for you  
-Burn Burn, Lost Prophets._

Sparks flew between Dalamar's fingers, the unmistakable prelude to a spell. The gathering flecks of magic shone brightly in the dim room, lighting up the Dark elf's eyes and his smirking, sinister grin, feeling the magic well up in his soul. As confident as he felt, however, the spell had taken a moment too long to cast and Raistlin ducked, dodging under the lightning bolt that soared over his head to smash into the far wall, sending embers flying in all directions.

The stench of ozone filled the air and Dalamar gasped, forcing air into his straining lungs, the exertion of casting was catching up with him and he heard the Red Robe choke back a cough. Seizing the initiative, he raised his hands to weave a new spell. The bolt flew true this time, but was blocked by Raistlin. The human mage's eyes burnt with menace as the spell ricocheted off, forcing the elf to duck to avoid it.

"Damn you!" Dalamar roared, his bravado concealing his own weariness. Tired or not, magic still danced around his hands, and he was far from finished. "I will have you yet!"

Raistlin sneered at the Dark elf, and wove a spell of his own, _"Bentuk khalayan laksana, tanda api sihir!"_

A blast of fire shot from his hands towards Dalamar. The elf tried to dodge out of the way, but the exhaustion of casting slowed his reflexes. The flaming bolt struck home and he reeled back, crying out as his robes caught fire. Laughter rang around the room as he threw himself to the ground, rolling to put out the flames.

Robes still smouldering, the Dark elf got back to his feet, shaking a fist at Raistlin while holding his tattered clothing together with his other hand. "I'll get you yet! Today or tomorrow, this is not over!"

The red wizard laughed sarcastically in response, giving the furious elf a mocking bow as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The door led to a corridor, which in turn led to the bedrooms. Dalamar paused in the passageway, then leant against the wall, flicking a hand to dispel the illusion. The damage on his robe faded out, leaving it untouched.

He smiled, it had been Raistlin's idea to set themselves up as entertainers -when the mage had been younger he'd often used his skill with illusions to gain money- but it had been Dalamar's to set themselves up as rivals in their performances. The Red Robe had been pleased when the usually reserved Dark elf had offered to help, and the idea had proved to be a good one, adding an exciting edge to their shows. Everything had been done to be as flashy and ostentatious as possible, from performances where they tried to outdo each other with ever more elaborate illusions, to -like today- actual duels using illusory magic rather than actually battle-spells. As they both knew perfectly well how to use magic in combat, these last were very realistic and thus, extremely popular. It was no surprise that many of the patrons started staging bets on the outcome of these confrontations. William Sweetwater had allowed the gambling, as long as he and the performers received a cut of the profits. Their show had ended up being so popular in fact, that it attracted the attention of not only the people of Balifor, but also that of the occupying Dragon Highlord's troops. As disturbing as it was to perform in front of a room full of draconians, Dalamar expected such attention was doubly useful. Not only did the creatures pay (and bet) well, the more well known their show became, the easier it would be to travel though the lands occupied by the Dragonarmies.

They had been in Balifor for about three weeks, a time which had proven a desperately needed rest after the horrors that had plagued them. It was blessedly peaceful here, the only excitement being the performances they put on everyday, and nothing to do but study their spellbooks and count the money rolling in. Soon, they would have enough not only to travel -Tanis was actually talking about buying a wagon-, but also to buy passage on a ship bound north when they arrived at the port of Flotsam, where the innkeeper knew a captain who could take them.

It was difficult to remain vigilant when everything was so calm and going so well. The others generally avoided them and even Caramon had decided that Tika's company was far preferable to his brother's. More than that, there had been no sign of what had happened to Raistlin in Silvanesti, whatever -or _who_ever- it had been was gone. Dalamar clung to the hope that it had been tied into the Nightmare, and that the longer it was since that horrible episode, the less power it would have. It took a great deal of self-control not to give in and return to the intimacies they had both missed, but the Dark elf reminded himself that however safe they might feel, Raistlin had still not been able to scrape enough control to speak of the subject without collapsing into a coughing fit.

As hard as it had been to resist even before they had started these performances, now the tension seemed nearly unbearable. There was no chance to avoid each other, they had to be together so much. Before the show -to plan it out, during it- in the whip-lash delight of the magic and afterwards. It was better if they were exhausted then, and the most they wanted was to curl up in a corner and sleep, but more often -like today- the blood-fire of casting stayed with them, and it was pure torture to stay together. It would have been easier to hold back if it was so clear why, but with nearly a month since Silvanesti and no sign of the dead presence that had terrified him, it was harder to be afraid of something he couldn't see than something he could. But even that would have been enough for him to control himself -the memory of the Nightmare and what came after was still enough to make his skin crawl- if not for the way Raistlin was acting.

The human mage might have understood his fear, but seemed to feel it was unfounded. He appeared confident that what had overcome him in Silvanesti was gone, or at least under control. He had none of Dalamar's reluctance, and, like the elf, had clearly missed sleeping together. Worse, he knew Dalamar missed it too.

The Dark elf felt his face flush at the memory, remembering the flash of shame and hazy lust at the realisation that Raistlin had overheard him, had heard him calling his name while in the throes of his own pleasure.

The human's arguments, combined with the waning for his own doubts and their constant proximity, were quickly wearing down his resistance. What was the point of staying apart like this? Even if there was a relapse, would Dalamar be any safer sleeping in a different bed rather than in his arms? And Gods! He had missed being together. It wasn't just desire that was wearing down his defences, but a longing to regain the simple intimacy they had shared. The occasional kisses they shared, how Raistlin would absent-mindedly touch him -a hand on his neck, a brush along his arm, occasionally leaning against him-, or the way he sometimes touched the red mage, just for the pleasure of laying his hands on his lover. All of this had become so commonplace that he barely noticed them anymore, and were only now remarkable by their absence.

And now, with his blood burning from the recent spellcasting and his doubts in tatters, was not the best time to meet with Raistlin. Even after the performance he'd had to force down the urge to pin the human mage against a wall and kiss him senseless, probably not stopping there. Dalamar swallowed as the reverie shot a bolt of lust through him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened again and Raistlin stepped through, carrying two glasses of the inn's slightly bitter wine. He smiled when he saw the Dark elf, and the black-robed wizard smiled back, the expression more than a little strained. The human looked little better than he did, and had even less control. His skin shone brassy and his hourglass eyes glittered topaz, pupils dilated like a cat's. Dalamar took the glass Raistlin handed to him and swallowed a mouthful, wetting his suddenly dry mouth. He felt the mage's eyes on him as he drank, feeling his skin burn under the eager scrutiny. Lowering his glass, he turned to return the other wizard's stare.

Raistlin just smiled, not at all bothered to be caught staring. He took a sip from his own glass, teasingly licking his gold-stained lips for any stray drops.

Dalamar's hand closed around the stem of his glass hard enough to snap it.

The Red Robe smiled again and took another swallow, then coughed as the exertion of spellcasting caught up with him. Almost instinctively, Dalamar reached out to hold him steady as the spasms shook the frail mage.

The attack was a short one, and soon passed. Raistlin ran a hand over his face, then closed it around Dalamar's arm as the Dark elf made to pull away. The teasing look was gone, replaced by a strange smile. The exile tried to pull back again, but his companion didn't let go, actually stepping closer. For a moment he didn't speak, just looking at the Dark elf, his eyes almost burning through him.

Dalamar met his gaze; he knew how much his lover liked simply looking at him, the only beauty in his world of decay. He opened his mouth to speak, but Raistlin pressed a finger against his lips, forestalling him and making him start as though the touch had been a brand. The emotions he had struggled to bank resurfaced tenfold and he shivered. Then the finger slipped away and was replaced by warm lips.

Dalamar's wine glass hit the floor with a sharp retort.

The Dark elf shuddered, mouth opening against Raistlin's. The human mage's slight weight pressed into him, pushing him against the wall. Dimly, he heard the other glass shattering next to his own, before his lover's tongue slid into his mouth, and all coherent thought was abruptly cut off.

It was too sweet, too tempting, the fire in his veins fanning to a white-hot lust that made him shake with desire, hands slipping hungrily under Raistlin's thin robes, golden skin burning against his fingertips.

The mouth left him, only to close of the tip of his left ear, drawing a hungry moan from the Dark elf's lips. Raistlin's hands clenched in his hair, drawing his head back to trail messy kisses down his throat. Dalamar groaned again, one hand knotting in the human's white hair, pulling his head up.

He was about to lean in to kiss Raistlin again, to burn away his doubts in the fever-heat of the mage's body, but the human pressed one hand on his chest, holding him back. "Quite a change in attitude, don't you think?" he asked conversationally, the lust in his eyes betraying his light words. "Does that mean you trust me now?"

Dalamar swallowed, licking dry lips. "Who can we trust?" he sneered. "Our very worst enemies are ourselves. We're surrounded by danger, so why torture ourselves just to avoid a little more?"

By the look on Raistlin's face, this wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. But it didn't matter, because the Dark elf's lips closed on his own and all thought flowed to nothing. All focus of the slide and grasp of their tongues and teeth, open-mouthed kisses seeking to devour each other, hands dragging them ever-closer.

Raistlin groaned, one hand lost in the Dark elf's hair, the other sliding down his back, under his robes. They were so close that their bodies were crushed together, so close that Dalamar could feel his lover's heart beating, feel his muscles strain to get closer still, feel the aching heat pressed again his own, rocking against his and making him gasp.

"I missed you," Dalamar groaned, almost begging as his hands tightened on Raistlin's shoulders. "I need you- Gods! I love you. Please- tell me if you- if this-"

"Yes," the human whispered simply in the Dark elf's ear, licking along the sensitive edge.

Dalamar groaned again, and gripped him tighter, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood.

"Please."

The soft plea was almost enough to undo him completely. The dark wizard twisted his head and smashed his lips against Raistlin's, pinning the slight mage against the wall with all the pent-up frustration of the last few days.

The human broke the kiss, lifting his head to gasp in air, shivering. "Bed," he choked out.

Dalamar hesitated, the old dread returning with shocking suddenness, his desire abating at the memory of those dead eyes. Then the thought faded and he was looking at Raistlin -golden eyes bright, skin slick with sweat, lips swollen-, hungry and aroused and brilliantly alive. The fear vanished like a snowflake in dragonfire and the Dark elf kissed him again, slowly and thoroughly, lazily exploring the human mage's willing, eager mouth, one hand closing firmly on his backside. He then pulled away, only to plant a quick kiss between Raistlin's eyes. His lover smiled, licked his swollen lips, and took Dalamar's hand in his, pulling him towards the stairs.

The Dark elf let him. It had been foolish to torture themselves like this, and he could never resist Raistlin when he offered himself like this. Let them forget fear and pain for a while, Nuitari only knew they needed to. Let whatever would happen, happen. He would be ready. They both would be.

* * *

Once in the now chilly room, Dalamar dropped back on the bed, pulling Raistlin down on top of him, his fingers snagging and pulling at the human's red robes. It had been too long, he wanted to feel him, skin to skin. The memory of what had already happened here -the unbearable pleasure of hearing his lover touch himself and the rather shocking knowledge that he had been overheard- only added fuel to the fire.

Clothing was removed hastily, and Dalamar thought he heard something rip. It didn't matter, these were old robes and it was hard to care about anything right now save the burning need that filled his body, to touch and feel and bury himself inside his eager lover. At last, when their robes were removed and their boots kicked off, the elf rolled over and pinned Raistlin under him, sighing with delight at the touch of the human's bare skin, soft and burning against his own.

The human mage bucked up against him, hands reaching up to snatch in the Dark elf's hair, pulling him down to kiss him, biting hard on his lower lip. Dalamar groaned, and pinned him down firmly, knees on either side of Raistlin's hips. He took the time to gaze over his lover, enjoying with his eyes what he would soon be enjoying with his body. He shivered when his lover's hands stroked up his inner thighs tightening on the muscles and the sensitive skin. Dalamar shifted his weight to his left arm and ran his right hand over Raistlin chest, raking over the thin golden skin and too-prominent ribs. This time it was the human's turn to shiver as the elf's nails left white lines along his torso, then his body jerked up as the Silvanesti leant down and followed the trail with his tongue, first lapping at a collarbone, easing down to nip playfully at a nipple, smiling against the smouldering skin as Raistlin's hands knotted in his hair again, trying to force him further down. Dalamar ignored the human's insistent hands, and took his time, kissing his way down to Raistlin's hips, biting gently against the sensitive skin. The human groaned, hands tightening almost painfully in his companion's hair, and the Dark elf could feel Raistlin's erection pressing against his chin, but just grinned and slid back up, brushing teasingly against him as he went back up.

The Dark elf thought he heard Raistlin's jaw creak as the human mage gritted his teeth. His smile only broadened at the look of frustrated hunger on Raistlin's face, and he kissed the tip of his nose.

The human mage scowled, opened his mouth to speak, only to shudder and suddenly dissolve into a fit of coughing.

Dalamar froze, then mentally kicked himself. What else did he expect? The performance had been draining for both of them; Raistlin had already had one attack and hadn't drunk his tea afterwards. What with the cold temperature of the room, it was only surprising that he hadn't succumbed earlier.

Trying to ignore his own all too present arousal, the elf sat up and pulled his lover into his arms, pulling a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapping it around his shaking shoulders. He slid one arm around Raistlin's back to keep the blanket in place but kept the other underneath, rubbing soothing circles against his lover's back.

The spasm was a bad one; Raistlin's fingers knotted painfully into his back as it shook him, coughing harshly into the Dark elf's chest. Dalamar was starting to feel the first icy tendrils of fear when the fit finally eased off. The human collapsed against his shoulder, struggling to draw breath as the tension left his still-trembling body. The Dark elf stayed still, letting his lover lean against him as long as he needed, his fingers easing the cramped muscles in the human's chest, and after a little while Raistlin's breathing evened out.

"Feeling better?" he whispered.

Raistlin swallowed then nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before sitting back, drawing the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

Dalamar kept one hand on him, kneading his shoulders, the other dipped in the flecks of blood staining his chest.

The Red Robe wiped his mouth self-consciously. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

The Dark elf shook his head, half fondly, half exasperated -how could Raistlin think he would be angry about something like this?- then kissed the human firmly to cut off any more words. It was a strange feeling to do so, to taste Raistlin's blood on his tongue, the metallic tang overlaying the familiar taste of his lover. The red wizard sighed into his mouth, relaxing against him as the Dark elf's arms slid around him again, caressing up and down his spine, dispelling the residual pain.

Dalamar took his time, ignoring the slowly reawakening fire in his lower belly, first stroking Raistlin's back, then his neck, then finally pulling his white hair aside to press his lips against the tender skin, suckling and biting to raise a scarlet mark. The human gave a soft moan, and the Silvanesti noticed he wasn't the only one regaining interest in the proceedings. Encouraged, he nuzzled his lover's throat again, his hands sliding down under the blanket to touch and grope.

Raistlin pushed him away, stifling a tired yawn and shaking his head with an apologetic expression.

Dalamar smiled, his companion's coughing fits always drained the human mage, but there was no reason why he couldn't still enjoy this. "Relax," he purred. "Just lie and down rest. Feel. Enjoy."

Raistlin lifted a feathery eyebrow, then obeyed, lying down on his stomach, keeping his blanket drawn tightly around him. Dalamar didn't remove it, to do so would only tempt another spasm and he was getting cold anyway. He added two more blankets to the human's nest before sliding in himself. He felt Raistlin shiver at the sudden intrusion of cold air, then relax. The Dark elf kissed the nape of his neck, and pressed himself closer, indulging in the delicious feeling of his lover's body against him. Slowly, he started sliding down, nipping at the ticklish spot between Raistlin's shoulder blades, moving down to bite the soft skin at the small of his back. Raistlin stretched luxuriously, rubbing his face against the pillow in a cat-like motion.

Dalamar rubbed his cheek against Raistlin's side, feeling the sharp edges of his ribcage against his face. "You need to eat more," he teased, tickling his ribs playfully as he made his way back up.

Raistlin turned his head to look at him, and was rewarded with a soft kiss against his lips. The human mage broke the kiss with a gasp as Dalamar reached down pushed one finger inside him. The Dark elf smiled as Raistlin's breathing quickened, feeling him struggling to relax against the intimate intrusion. A second finger, then a third, and the human was shaking as hard as he had from the coughing fit. The Silvanesti trailed soft kisses up his back and neck, trying to distracting him the pain that inevitably accompanied this. To help with this, he curled his fingers inside his lover's body, seeking out and touching the place inside him that always made the human mage see stars. It worked perfectly, Raistlin cried out, trembling even harder and driving back against the fingers that were slowly splitting him open. Dalamar laughed, then twisted him fingers again. He knew how much pain his lover lived with and it delighted him to be able to help him forget it, if only for a while. Again, this was a success, Raistlin's breath came out in a low groan and his fingers knotted in the sheets. Dalamar wondered if the shimmering in his lover's golden eyes was a trick of the light, but either way, enough teasing.

A second gasp tore itself free from Raistlin's throat as Dalamar withdrew his fingers, wiping them on a corner of the blanket before moving until he was behind the human. His fingers closed on his lover's hips and drew him up, smiling as Raistlin pressed himself against him, allowing his better access to his body.

This time it was Dalamar's turn to cry out as he thrust smoothly inside Raistlin's body, burying himself up to the hilt in tight, burning flesh. The Dark elf's breath came in pants. It felt too good, it had been too long. The human twisted his head around, his eyes smouldering as hot as his mouth as Dalamar kissed him, hot, savage, wonderful. Tongue and teeth and Raistlin sweat-slick body bucking against and around his until he couldn't tell where he left off and the other began.

It was just as well his body knew what to do because if it had been up to him Dalamar would have happily stayed like this forever, entangled and entwined with the taste of Raistlin's blood still hot in his mouth. He started moving without conscious thought, thrusting rhythmically into the human, feeling his lover's body jerk and shiver beneath him.

He was saying something, he wasn't too sure what, only that this felt so good and he loved Raistlin so, so much, his lips brushing against the human mage's ear.

Raistlin was close to the edge, that was easy to tell even in his lust-blinded state. His lover's thin muscles were involuntarily tightening and relaxing, as thought tearing apart from the sheer pleasure. Dalamar unclenched one hand and reached under the human's body to stroke him in time to his thrusts. He saw Raistlin's mouth open, soundlessly shaping words that never escaped his trembling lips. Vaguely, the Dark elf wondered if it was sweat or tears making the tracks down the glittering skin of his lover's face, and kissed him firmly. Dalamar's fingers tightened harder around his lover's erection, thumb swirling his thumb over slick head and Raistlin lost control, twisting violently under him. The Silvanesti swallowed his cry as he came, slick and hot between his clenched fingers. His body snapped taut under the force of his release and Dalamar threw his head back in a silence scream as the muscles surrounding him tightened to the point of pain. It was enough to push him over the edge, liquid fire pooling and bursting into Raistlin's body as they both collapsed back on the mattress.

Dalamar rolled off the human mage; every inch of skin felt over-sensitive, every contact sending shivers of fire through him. Still shaking, he spooned up against Raistlin, pulling him closer still and burying his face in his white hair. The human's hand closed over his, the other coming up to stroke his hair.

The Dark elf nuzzled the back of his lover's neck, surprised as a few tears slipped from his eyes, a long overdue release. Ignoring the wetness of his cheeks, he kissed Raistlin's lips, unsurprised at the taste of salt. He smiled, and kissed him again. "I love you," he sighed happily, revelling in the closeness he had feared lost forever. "Never leave me."

Raistlin reached up and pulled him down until Dalamar's head was resting on his chest. "Never."

And Dalamar knew he meant it.

_Skull Bearer._


	12. To Delude

_If anyone other than Chetwynd, Shadow Valkyrie, Lord Eantr Jay and Halo Kitty is reading this fic, could they please tell me what they thought? I'd hate to think I was writing this for nothing._

_To those who did review, thank you so much, and I hope this chapter is as good as the others._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter eleven- To Delude

_As they dance under the moon they bring doom  
He calls her friend and says he'll change  
She calls him friend and he deceives again  
-Raistlin and the Rose, Lake of Tears._

The end of the tension between the two mages had its own ramifications. It was harder to keep up the sham-fight they put on for their audiences, and to hold up that same illusion in public -Raistlin doubted their audience would pay (or bet) as well if they thought the two so-called rivals were actually sharing the same bed. More annoyingly, the Red Robe was suffering unwanted attention from a completely unexpected source: he had hoped his treatment of Caramon during the dream had been enough to cure his twin of his insufferable attitude, but apparently not. Despite Tika's insistence and his own antagonism, Raistlin found himself once again plagued by his brother's unwelcome attentions.

No doubt Caramon had been delighted at the rift that had opened between his twin and the Dark elf, although any attempts at approaching Raistlin during that time had been met with a vicious snarl and a few well chosen verbal barbs. The human wizard was particularly satisfied with the one where he cuttingly asked his brother if, now he'd satisfied himself with the barmaid, he wanted to vent his 'attentions' on his brother too. Caramon had fled the room.

Despite the distance Raistlin was determined to maintain, Caramon must have been hopeful he and Dalamar would remain apart, and been accordingly stung when the two mages decided to reconcile.

Raistlin had been treated once again to the old spiel from his brother, something he had hoped had been left behind in the ashes of Solace. Yes, he was in love with the Dark elf. No, it wasn't infatuation. No, it wasn't any form of blackmail. No, he wasn't enchanted! If Caramon tried _anything_ to sabotage the fragile bridge he and Dalamar had built across the rift between them, the outcome would not be pleasant. Because it was no more than a bridge, Raistlin saw no point in deluding himself on that point. His relationship with the Dark elf was shaky at best, and would remain so for as long as he was forced to keep his unwilling silence.

He had been successful in shutting Fistandantilus out of his mind, but little else. Although the lich no longer had to strength to control him, he was still powerful enough to break down his mental barriers and force a coughing fit if Raistlin tried to speak about what had happened in Silvanesti -and in his Test before that.

The worst part was that Raistlin didn't think he would be able to change this for some time, because as much as he hated to admit it, he needed the lich. Or more precisely, he needed the Dragon Orb. Even without the memories of Tarsis, it was obvious that without the artefact's aid he and Dalamar would almost certainly not survive this war. And the only way of getting the Orb was through Fistandantilus, there would be no retrieving the artefact without the lich's assistance- willing or not.

Still, Raistlin held out hope. Fistandantilus' power was waning, that much was clear. Before, the lich had been powerful enough to strip his mental defences to ashes and control him like a puppeteer, but now he could do nothing but lurk on the fringes of his mind, saving his strength for when the Red Robe threatened to divulge his presence. He would be able to command the undead, to retain control and force Fistandantilus to retrieve the Dragon Orb. He had held control this long until even the coughing fits the lich forced on him were not as strong as previously.

The human had caught himself wondering on occasion if Dalamar might be right, if Fistandantilus' power in the Silvanesti Nightmare had been directly leeched from the enchanted land. It would certainly explain why the undead creature was weakening, and hopefully it would continue the further they went from Silvanesti. Which, he hoped, would be a long way.

Raistlin finished packing his bag, and looked once again around the room he and Dalamar had shared over the last month, making sure he hadn't left anything behind. They were leaving in a moment, and the last thing he wanted was to realise he had forgotten something. An exploration of the curtains revealed nothing, as did a check of the draws. A look under the beds produced nothing but dust and a minor coughing fit. He choked, swallowed hard, and sat up. He had already stripped the beds, which left -nothing. Despite this, Raistlin could suppress the nagging feeling that he was leaving something behind.

He smiled ruefully; perhaps what he was leaving behind was the place itself.

Aside from the tension between himself and Dalamar, the last few weeks had been uniquely pleasant ones. The performances had been as entertaining to enact as they had apparently been to watch, and being looked at with something other than dislike by someone who wasn't his lover (Caramon didn't count) was rather refreshing. Besides, the duels between he and they Dark elf may have been an act, but they were good practise for the real thing. The irony of practising their spellcraft literally under the noses of those who they would be fighting was not lost on Raistlin, and he often hid a smile at the sight of draconians in the audience. If only they knew...

The door opened and Dalamar poked his head in. "We've left nothing downstairs and the others are all getting ready to leave, so..." He waved him over.

Raistlin slid his pack over his shoulders and got up; it was pleasantly light, holding only his spellbooks and spare spell components since all their provisions were already downstairs. Picking up the Staff of Magius, he followed Dalamar down the stairs to the taperoom where the others were waiting. Their appearance prompted a burst of spontaneous cheering from the patrons, all of who had watched at least one performance of 'The Red Wizard and the Necromancer' -as their show had been dubbed. He rolled his eyes at the standing ovation, while the dark-robed elf gave a slightly mocking bow.

Raistlin glanced around the room, and noted two were missing. "Where are Caramon and Tanis?" he asked Goldmoon.

"Gone to get the wagon," she answered, glancing over his shoulder towards the street outside.

The Red Robe nodded and turned away. Tanis had made good of his wish to purchase a wagon, and he certainly wasn't about to complain since he and Dalamar would be the ones sleeping inside it. The others would do so in a gaudy pavilion outside, and for that privacy, Raistlin would have gladly paid twice his share. They could afford it anyway; even after buying enough horses for each of them, they'd had enough to buy provisions to last them the weeks it would take them to get to Flotsam. They would continue to perform during their travels, so he had no doubt that by the time they reached the port city, they would have enough steel to buy passage to _Tarsis_ if they wanted. Finding a ship was also looking much easier now, with the help of pig-face William, who had given them a letter of recommendation to a sea captain he knew who was reliable, would be in port around this time, and affordable.

The rattle of wheels on cobblestones and the clip of horse's hooves heralded Tanis's arrival and they filed out to meet him. The wagon prompted loud cheering by those who had come to see them off -most of Balifor, it seemed- but Raistlin just rolled his eyes. Caramon had _insisted_ on wearing that stupid bearskin suit, saying it would amuse the children. It did, but the wizard hardly shared their opinion. _He'd_ be the one sitting with the lout, after all. Still, at least he'd managed to convince his twin to wash the outfit, saying that the smell of the bear would panic the horses. So now the large man just stank of cloves instead. The horses didn't mind, but everyone else did.

With a sigh, Raistlin scrambled up to sit on the roof of the wagon, trying to stay upwind of his brother. Dalamar climbed up next to him, grimacing at the smell and covering his nose with the sleeve of his new robes. There had been enough money to buy all of them new clothing -for which the human wizard was thankful. It was midwinter now and though they would be travelling north, the chill air was biting even through his thick robes and cloak. The others climbed on after them, it had been decided they would all ride out together, and with a resounding cheer from the people of Balifor Caramon flicked the reins and got the horses moving.

As the wagon rattled into the more open thoroughfare, the wind became colder still, a fierce southern one blowing up from the Icewall. Raistlin shivered and leant against Dalamar, and the Dark elf put am arm around him. The two mages looked at each other for a moment before looking over at the astonished crowd, all of whom had been under the impression that the two mages hated each other. Perhaps in order to convince the doubters of just how wrong they were, the elf pulled his companion in for a blistering kiss that melted the cold and turned the biting wind into a warm summer breeze.

Raistlin smiled. "Exhibitionist," he whispered against the Dark elf's burning lips.

"Always." Dalamar grinned, hugging him tightly.

The human let him, nuzzling the gap between the clasp of the elf's cloak and the collar of his robes, pressing a kiss on the sliver of skin between them. He had missed this so much in the first few weeks, before mutual need- and yes, love- had drawn them back together.

With a jolt the wagon picked up speed, clattering over the cobbles to the whoops and cheers of half of Balifor; kender, humans and all, they were actually accosted by a draconian at one point. They had all tensed as it strolled towards them, but it only wanted to know if they were passing through Bloodwatch, and if so, if they could put on a show for the troops stationed there. They all smiled and nodded, and Raistlin had a feeling he wasn't the only one making a mental vow never to step inside Bloodwatch for as long as he lived. He still remembered first few nerve-racking performances when the draconians had come to watch, unable to stop wondering when they would be recognised. Mercifully, it had never happened, but none of them wanted to tempt fate.

Finally, they reached the city gates and climbed down to bid William farewell. The pig-faced innkeeper hugged each of them, although he seemed selectively blind to Dalamar's presence and retreated when he saw the 'don't even think about it' look on Raistlin's face. To make up for it, he hugged Tika twice.

They didn't all get back on the wagon, instead, Tika and Caramon climbed on to drive, and the others mounted up on the horses Tanis had picked out. Raistlin mounted a chestnut palfrey and Dalamar a grey mare, and followed the others out of the main gate and up the northern road.

* * *

By all the many and varied way they had travelled -by foot, by horse or even by griffon-, Raistlin decided the weeks spent travelling north from Balifor were by far the most luxurious. The wagon might be cramped and the bunk he shared with Dalamar small, but it was warm and the privacy was wonderful. They also had the option of staying inside as they travelled, something infinitely more preferable than riding in the freezing winter air.

Raistlin spent a long time analyzing the enchanted sack in which the Dragon Orb was hidden, hoping against hope that he could find some way of retrieving the artefact without calling on the lich who still lurked on the edges of his mind. Unfortunately, it appeared his initial assumption had been the right one: There didn't seem to be a way of retrieving the Orb without the assistance of the one who had put it in there in the first place. Raistlin had been able to break the seal that prevented him from putting his hand in, but this simply made it impossible to find the Orb. He could fumble inside it as much as he wanted, and be unable to lay his hand on the artefact. Bitterly he cursed the dead Lorac for enchanting such an effective thief's tool; no doubt it had come in very useful when the elfmage had stolen the Orb from Istar.

Raistlin had told Dalamar as much as he could about the Orb and the bag that held it, and the Dark elf was certainly bright enough to fill in the gaps himself. He knew that his companion couldn't get the Orb out, and that to do so he would have to recall whatever had happened to him in Silvanesti. Needless to say, he wasn't particularly pleased with this information, and Raistlin's reassurances that he would be in control didn't really convince the elf. Still, he knew as well as the human did that they needed the Orb if there were to have any chance of coming out of this war alive, although he had put forward a rather intriguing suggestion: If Raistlin was successful in controlling the Orb (the possibility that he might fail had been carefully ignored), could he possibly use it to banish whatever it was that still lurked within him? The thought that the artefact could be used to destroy Fistandantilus, or at least force the lich to leave, had not occurred to Raistlin, although he had to admit it was a tempting thought. After all, the Orb's power had been able to reshape a whole land; surely its powers amounted to more than simply controlling dragons?

Surely it would be more than worth the risk?

Had Raistlin been the only one in danger, he would have taken the chance, but whatever worries he had for himself, they were completely eclipsed by his fears for the Dark elf. Fistandantilus would welcome the chance to attack Dalamar, if only to hurt and weaken his host. If the lich managed to slip his control, the dark-robed wizard might well be his first target.

Raistlin wasn't ready to risk that yet. He still harboured the fleeting hope that he might yet break the enchantment on the bag and retrieve the Orb without risk to either of them. But even if it failed, the longer he held Fistandantilus back the weaker the undead would be, and he would need every advantage he could get.

* * *

The weather grew milder as they travelled north, performing at the many villages along the way and gathering a substantial amount of coin. The weeks were the most peaceful and pleasant Raistlin had enjoyed since he had left Solace all those years ago. Travelling in the warmth meant that his health had improved, and the privacy allowed himself and Dalamar more time alone. 

Even Caramon wasn't as irritating as usual, although that was probably because he was hardly ever there. Dalamar had mentioned that his twin had started up a relationship with the young barmaid Tika. Raistlin had snorted and remarked that anything that kept his twin away was fine by him. The barmaid disliked both of them intensely and did everything to keep Caramon away from them, for which the human mage was thankful. It was ironic, he mused, he had once honestly believed that Caramon would be glad when he realised his twin didn't need him anymore, and could spend more time with his friends instead of hanging on to him like a limpet. Raistlin shook his head; it had taken the big warrior seven years to realise this and he still looked at the Red Robe as though he thought his brother was going to complain. If Raistlin didn't know better, he would have thought his brother had only taken up with Tika to make him jealous.

He shrugged, it hardly mattered now.

The road they had taken had been slow and meandering, with frequent stops to perform at various villages. They had actually stayed two nights at the small town of Brightfield, and three at the larger Patience. Tonight was to be their last performance, in a small village hidden in the forests that bordered Flotsam, a village so small it only appeared as a small dot on even the most detailed map they had. Tomorrow they would enter Flotsam, and Raistlin knew he had run out of time. His efforts to open the bag had come to nothing, and if he waited any longer he would forfeit the privacy he needed. Tonight would be the last chance he had of retrieving the Dragon Orb, and if he had to call on Fistandantilus' assistance, then so be it.

Despite his conviction, it was with a marked hesitance that he put down the bag which held the Orb, unwilling to admit defeat. With a sigh, he got to his feet, drank a sip of his tea, and picked out the gaudy outfit he performed in. They were old robes, thin with long wear, but Tika had sewn patches of satin on the poor cloth, and in the right light it seemed as though he were wearing robes of flickering flame.

Dalamar smiled and pulled on his own outfit. Again, Tika had made it from a set of his old robes. They'd been a Nameday gift from Raistlin from their first year together and they were worn to holes. The former barmaid had cut the battered cloth to tattered ribbons, and sewn white skulls and bones over the obvious holes and faded patches. Personally, Raistlin thought it looked ridiculous, but the Dark elf reminded him that unlike them, the villagers had no idea what an actual necromancer looked like, and since Dalamar was supposed to be one, he may as well make it obvious. Besides, however absurd the robes were, the overall effect was good. The thin shreds of the fabric seemed to float when the Silvanesti walked, and he actually looked quite menacing. Not to mention that Dalamar looked good in _anything_ and this was no exception. Raistlin wasn't the only one with this opinion; he had seen several women shooting glances at the Dark elf.

The human mage jumped as Dalamar kissed the back of his neck gently, tucking his white hair under his collar to keep it out of the way. "They'll be waiting for us to start, best to leave soon."

Raistlin nodded, picking up his staff and mug before wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. The night promised to be a cold one and he didn't want the performance marred by a coughing fit, not to mention that it wouldn't help what he planned to do later... He pushed the unwelcome thought out of his mind. Not now. This could be their last hour of peace, he wouldn't have it ruined.

The performance took place in the place the villagers proudly termed the main square, a battered patch of ground surrounded on two sides by trees, and by cottages on the others. As the two mages were to come on last they took a seat in the shadows, out of sight and watched the others do their acts.

First on was Caramon, dressed once more in the bearskin suit -the smell mercifully muted after weeks of travelling. The big man stomped into the circle of firelight, snarling playfully at benchful of dirty-faced children who shrieked and giggled in excitement. The warrior walked over to the children, took a firm hold of the bench they were sitting on and lifted it- children and all- into the air. The crowd gasped and cheered.

Raistlin sighed, leaning against Dalamar and taking a sip of his tea. The Dark elf put his arm around him.

Caramon's act ended, and it was Tanis' go. The Half-elf called everyone over to the shadows away from the firelight, where he had set up three archery targets. The crowd gasped as he asked for three brave volunteers to stand in front of each. After warning them not to move, he moved back three hundred paces and took aim.

With his keen eyesight and bow skill, Half-elven had no trouble hitting the targets, striking them sometimes only a hairsbreadth away from the person. The crowd screamed and cheered.

"What would he do it he missed and hit the person, do you think?" Dalamar asked, lazily stroking circles around Raistlin's collarbone.

"Apologise profusely and call Goldmoon," Raistlin answered smoothly, "who would then turn the whole thing into a sermon to get more worshippers."

The Dark elf smiled and chuckled. "That, I'll grant you."

As though mentioning her had been a summoning, Goldmoon stepped up as Tanis' performance finished. Riverwind was with her as usual, and Raistlin was glad no one from the Dragonarmies was attending this performance. The Plainswoman's songs were invariably about the old Gods, and the mage had spent the last few performances on edge, wondering if this would be the night they would be arrested for fermenting dissidence. Mercifully, it had never happened.

Once Goldmoon finished, Tika stood up to take her place and Riverwind struck up a more rapid beat, Goldmoon joining in on a lute. The former barmaid started dancing to the music, dressed in an outfit which left nothing to the imagination of those watching. The girl's dancing was greeting with loud cheers and wolf-whistles -mostly from the menfolk.

Raistlin glanced up at Dalamar, and was relieved that the Dark elf wasn't even pretending to look interested. The Silvanesti had an annoying tendency to eye up supposedly pretty women, particularly if he thought it might rile up his lover. At least he wasn't bothering with that this evening.

Tika bowed as her act ended to tremendous applause. Then it was the mages' turn.

Dalamar grinned at Raistlin, kissed his forehead, then got up and stalked into the circle of firelight. An excited hush fell over the crowd as the Dark elf glowered at them, flickering light wreathing one outstretched hand.

The Red Robe had to admit Tika knew what she'd been doing when she'd made Dalamar's robes: the white patches on the elf's robes caught the firelight and glowed like lanterns in the dark fabric of his clothing. Silently, the elf turned to him and beckoned.

Raistlin drank the last of his tea and stepped out of the darkness. His robes glittered as he moved, and unlike Dalamar he kept his hood down, throwing his features into shadow.

Neither of them spoke -there was no need, their reputation as rivals had preceded them. They had discussed the performance several times beforehand. It was to be their last one, so it was only fair if it was their most spectacular.

Dalamar moved first, lifting his arms as he shaped the first of the spells of illusion, and on command, greyish-white shapes started to materialise in the trees. Raistlin hid a smile, for all that the Dark elf hated undead, he could create illusions of them that could fool a real necromancer. The human mage raised his hands to make a show of defending himself from the 'wraiths' that were even now swooping out of the trees, their translucent faces locked in grimaces of agony. He couldn't quite repress a shudder, the illusion was good, very good, and it served as an unpleasant reminder of what was waiting for him after this performance.

Again, Raistlin tried to put the thought out of his mind, forcing himself back to the spell he was trying to cast. _"Khalayan anak corak emas elak!"_

A despairing shriek filled the air as shimmering golden bolts shot towards the 'wraiths'. Raistlin was impressed, he hadn't realised that Dalamar could create illusionary sound as well as sight. The bolts struck home, and the undead disintegrated at a touch. The Red Robe raised his hands and brought the bolts around, sending them flying towards his opponent instead.

The Dark elf snarled, conjuring silver shields out of thin air; when the bolts struck them, both shield and bolt vanished. With a bitter curse, Dalamar leaped into the shadows, tearing off one of the skull patches on his robes and throwing it at Raistlin, flicking his wrist to shape the illusion. The crowd gasped and a few children screamed as the patch transformed, twisting into a real skull, it's jaw dropping slackly open as it flew towards Raistlin, revealing razor-sharp teeth.

The human mage took a step backwards, affecting fear before weaving strands of magic into a suitably fancy shield to block the illusion. The glowing white shield was only half-finished when, as planned, the bolt struck home. It felt as though he had been caught in a blast of winter air, and Raistlin swallowed back on the tightening in his chest as the illusion dissipated and he let himself slump to the ground.

Dalamar's howl of manic laughter almost drowned out the gasp from the crowd, all of whom were on the edge of their seats.

Slowly, affecting great pain, Raistlin staggered to his feet; a quick cantrip made it look as though smoke was rising from his robes, while a command to the illusion changed his robes to appear suitably tattered and burnt. The effect of casting was starting to tell, so he whispered a few words in the language of magic and the illusion changed again, a shimmering spear he sent flying at Dalamar, followed by a hail of magic missiles. The Dark elf blocked them all, and sent back a bolt of ice. A quick shift of the illusion and the human was surrounded by a wall or roaring flame. Obediently, the bolt melted and hissed into steam. The intense concentration of maintaining the illusion made everything seem distant and dreamlike, until nothing was real except the trancelike delight of the magic. He barely saw the illusion, and when thinking back on it he could almost think he saw the magic itself in its pure form, untouched and unshaped.

Fireballs flew and burst, terrible dragons tore at each other, fiends appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. All the while the audience was screaming and cheering. Finally, Dalamar slipped, stumbling over his cloak and Raistlin was on him, blasts of fire and ice striking him, and the Dark elf screamed. The terrible howl torn through the magic-trance the human was in, shocking him back to the real world. He was unable to repress a chill of dread, even though he knew better than anyone did that the Dark elf absolutely fine. But still, as the Silvanesti crumpled to the ground, he had to fight the urge to run over and check if the Dark elf was unhurt; instead, he focused on maintaining the illusion, making it look as though Dalamar's body was crumbling to dust before vanishing utterly.

Raistlin shoved back the sudden panic gripping him, losing his grasp on the spell. It was an illusion, he knew that; Dalamar was invisible, as they had decided beforehand. But still... it had been just a little too real, it little too close to home. Memories from the Silvanesti Nightmare returned and he had to fight the urge to reach out and check if his lover was really alright.

As if in answer to his fears, Raistlin felt a light touch on the back of his neck, Dalamar quietly reassuring him. The red-robed wizard forced a smile for the now cheering crowd and bowed, before doubling back to the bench and gathering his mug, leaving the others to collect the night's earnings.

Once safely out of sight, Dalamar reappeared, completely untouched. "Was that so hard?"

Raistlin smiled sadly. "Would you find it easier?" he retorted, lifting his head for a kiss.

The Silvanesti took his time. He cupped Raistlin's chin with one hand and slid the other around the human mage's waist, then slowly leant down until his lips brushed his lover's. He paused for a moment, sharing breath, their tongues flicking out to touch, to lick over each other's lips.

Raistlin straightened and his mouth closed over the Dark elf's, hands curling around Dalamar's head and holding on tight. He shut his eyes against the memory of the past and the fears of the future, melting into the Silvanesti's arms and letting his presence block out everything.

"Are you alright?" Dalamar breathed against his lips.

Raistlin didn't answer, instead leaning against the elf, burying his face in his lover's patched robes. The cold dread returned, coiling tightly around his heart. It seemed so unutterably foolish to even think about what he was planning. Was the Dragon Orb worth risking not only his own life, but also Dalamar's? If it had simply been his... he had faced as much during the Test. But this was his friend's safety, and worse, he couldn't even explain the risks!

As if he had read his thoughts, Dalamar tilted his face up and looked down at him. "Don't do this," he murmured. "You don't want to. I don't want you to-"

"I have to," he answered, his voice harsher than he meant it. "You remember Tarsis, you remember the dragons" -You remember what it felt like to think we were both going to die- "how would it have been if we had the Dragon Orb? To be able to command the dragons ourselves, to make them stay away, or attack their own, or _anything_ we want. With it, we have the best possible chance of surviving, without it... we know better than anyone what we are up against."

Dalamar's face had that shuttered look he had when he knew he was losing an argument. He nodded and sighed. "Yes, I'm not disputing that, but-"

"There isn't another way; we won't be able to retrieve the Orb without-" Raistlin felt his throat clench warningly, and swallowed, "-without assistance."

Dalamar nodded stiffly. "You are decided then?"

The Red Robe just looked at him, then reached up to touch the elf's shoulder as Dalamar leant in and nuzzled his neck, whispering against his hair, "Such a risk though, and I don't know the half of it."

Raistlin carded his fingers through the Dark elf's hair, fingers snagging on the knots. "You will," he whispered. "I swore to tell you and I will."

Quietly, they walked back to the wagon. All was silent, the others were staying the night in the village and no one was about.

The Dark elf made to go in, but Raistlin barred his way. "Stay outside, Dalamar. Whatever happens, don't go in."

The Silvanesti hesitated, questions obvious on his face, but he didn't speak them. Instead, he sighed and kissed Raistlin's forehead. "Nuitari walk with you," he whispered against his skin.

Raistlin was forcibly reminded of the Dark elf's same words when he had taken the Test. He held the Dark elf tightly and returned the blessing, "And with you."

Dalamar hugged him back, then released him with a stiff nod.

Raistlin opened the door and paused before stepping in; he wished he could warn his companion of the danger, and railed against the control he had yet to regain. Instead, he swallowed against the tightness in his chest and spoke hoarsely. "Make sure nobody comes in."

With a final, grim smile, Raistlin shut the door behind him.

_Please review._

_Skull Bearer._


	13. To Command

_From Nightson: Sorry abotu that, it was a bad time and the lack of reviews was getting me down. Glad you liked it and thanks for reviewing._

_Dagmar the Dark: Hope you like this one too._

_From LJ:_

_LordEantrJay: Last chapter was a transitional one into this one. I thought it might need some forshadowing._

_Bookwormmel: Cheers!_

_Halokitty: Heh, I know the feeling. No sex in this one either _:(_ but it's rather disturbing._

_Shadowvalkyrie: Caramon's role in Legends is going to be very nasty indeed -cue evil laugh- Mwahahahaha! As you can see, I'm already looking forward to it -Caramon quakes in his boots-  
Oh yes, at lot of Fistandantilus in this chapter. Hope you enjoy._

_Analia the 1st: Thank you! The Silvanesti dream chapter incredibly hard to write (probably because I was trying to emulate His Highness the King of Horror, HP Lovecraft), and I'm glad it had the desired effect _;)_. Thank you for your review.  
'Sick and unnatural'? What does that make me then? I write these fics! Anyway, you should read the stuff Roachspit writes._

_Thank you everyone!_

Nocturnale

Chapter Twelve- To Command

_Since were feeling so anesthetised  
In our comfort zone  
Reminds me of the second time  
That I followed you home  
-Bitter End, Placebo_

Raistlin closed and locked the door behind him, then dug through his spell component pouches and traced runes of warding over the doorframe. Murmuring the incantation, he brushed his hand over the door, feeling the crackle of the magic keeping it closed. The runes he had traced glowed brightly for a moment, then faded, holding the door firmly closed from this side. If the impossible happened and he lost control, the wards would hold Fistandantilus back. While he wasn't arrogant enough to think that the runes would actually stop the lich, they would slow him down and hold him at bay long enough for the human mage to regain control.

The spell finished, Raistlin stepped back and walked over to wagon's small table. The fears he had kept at bay for hours returned when he lay eyes on the bag lying on the tabletop, the cold, creeping dread, bringing with it memories of that night in Silvanesti and the icy clutch of the lich's mind.

He shook off the feelings picked up the bag, the plain canvas seeming to mock him in its ordinariness -so simple yet even he couldn't use it. He set it down beside the stand he had made to hold the Orb. Remembering the ornate stand it had stood in back in Silvanesti, this one looked ridiculous. It was rickety and badly finished, and rather lopsided, but it would serve its purpose.

For all his scorn for foolish hope, Raistlin was unable to stop himself from trying one last time. He opened the bag again, willing it to show something other than darkness. As before, it was useless. The bag remained stubbornly empty and he closed it with a bitter sigh. He set it down on the stand before turning his attention inwards, his confidence belied by the cold grip of fear.

Fistandantilus' presence in his mind had died to a trickle of alien emotion behind the mental barriers he had thrown up. He could still feel the undead creature lurking there, feel the lich's emotions, muted behind the layers of thought keeping him at bay. He loathed the thought of destroying these barriers, of letting the one they imprisoned free, but Fistandantilus had backed him into a corner, and they both knew it. He could feel the lich's icy anticipation and satisfaction, and felt a fierce stab of hate towards the monster, momentarily distracting him from the dread creeping up his spine.

Block by block, he dismantled the barriers he had put up to keep Fistandantilus at bay, feeling the defences that had kept him safe these past few weeks fade to insignificance. Finally, unable to force back a final shudder of revulsion and fear, Raistlin pushed past them, tentatively reaching down, as he had done before, to draw on the foul lich's power.

Almost tauntingly, as soon as he approached the presence waned, the lich drawing back away from him. Grimacing, Raistlin grappled and pulled back, like someone trying to recall a particularly elusive memory. Again the undead presence moved away, a mocking laugh lingering on the very edges of hearing. Frustrated and angry, Raistlin drew on his own reserves of energy to stop the lich. The creature had been so eager to take possession of his body before; well, now he was offering it to him. Still Fistandantilus' thoughts twisted and curled away, not allowing him to come close.

The effort of fighting with the lich was tiring him, and the touch of the creature's mind- no matter how light- was very painful. It felt as though Raistlin had drunk something cold too fast; it shot bolts of ice through his brain until even his teeth hurt, and his eyes felt as though they were being pierced from within by frozen arrows. Ignoring the stabs of pain, he focused his mind on the lich, trying to force him back through sheer force of will.

And in that moment, Fistandantilus struck. With his mental defences down and his whole mind bent on the task, Raistlin reeled. It was as though he had been pulling hard on a rope that had suddenly given way, leaving him collapsed on his back like a stricken insect.

With horrifying ease, the lich brushed aside the young man's consciousness, and the world flew out of focus to such a degree that for a moment all Raistlin could see was whiteness. His body felt filled with icy coldness, as though it was a pitcher in which freezing water had been poured, until even the cold air of the wagon seemed warm against his numb flesh. Disbelievingly, feeling his muscles clenching and relaxing to a will other than his own, he watched as his hand reached out to take the bag. Of its own accord, it made to put the sack away. Then his fingers tightened as he fought his way back, struggling against the dead presence now fighting to shut him out. He had fought Fistandantilus before and he had won, he would do so again. Raistlin could feel the lich's mind, the thoughts crawling through his own like so many cold, blind worms, probing and grasping, trying to break his concentration and reaffirm control. He forced himself to ignore the revolting sensation and drew his defences more tightly around his sense of self, bending his will on his frozen hands.

His fingers, usually so deft, moved clumsily as he struggled to open the bag, Fistandantilus fighting him at every step. Twice he nearly dropped it as his hands relaxed without warning, fingertips fumbling with the simple ties keeping it closed. The world blurred in and out of focus, heat and chills racking his body and the balance swung from one combatant to the other. His body felt numb and unresponsive, as alien to him as if it had belonged to someone else, occasionally twitching in random motions as the undead invader fought against him.

It was hard, harder than he had expected. The lich's grip on his was like iron, and Raistlin feared that this time he had been the one underestimating his opponent. But slowly, slowly, he could feel the undead's control over him starting to weaken, the first shatter-cracks preluding the coming break.

With a final jerk of his numb, shaking hands, Raistlin forced open the drawstrings of the bag, feeling Fistandantilus's frustrated rage burst against his mind like the sea against breakers.

A soft, green glow filled the room from the open bag, as soothing as it was profoundly disturbing. Even from the depths of the sack the light seemed to flicker like an unearthly green candle, or the reflection of the sun off deep water. It recalled memories of Silvanesti, of the Nightmare, and despite his triumph, Raistlin couldn't repress a shudder.

As though realising he had been beaten, Fistandantilus retreated, backing away into a corner of Raistlin's mind. Quickly, before the other had a chance to regain strength, the young mage threw his mental barriers back up, locking the dead presence out of his mind. They wouldn't be as strong as they had been, but he hoped they would be able to hold the weakened lich long enough for him to use the Orb.

Briefly, Raistlin wondered if he should open the door to tell Dalamar he was alright, then discarded that thought. He would have to disable the wards to do so, and he wouldn't put it past Fistandantilus to spring a coughing fit on him as soon as he opened his mouth. No, he had wasted enough time.

Hesitantly, he slid his hand into the bag, his skin pricking with pins and needles -although whether that was due to the Orb's magic or the residual effects of Fistandantilus' possession, he didn't know.

The Orb had shrunk. The object his hand touched was little bigger than a child's marble. The surface was smooth, slightly warm, and utterly repulsive. Raistlin couldn't understand the sudden revulsion the object invoked in him, it seemed as though everything it was disgusted him, the very touch of it sickening.

Ignoring his discomfort, he withdrew the orb. The light from it sprang out to coat the walls in eerie green, as though they had been covered with a poisonous, diseased moss. Gritting his teeth, Raistlin placed the Orb on the stand he and Dalamar had fashioned for it. It looked ridiculous there, a tiny green sphere on a rickety stand far too big for it, yet, even as he watched, the orb seemed to swell, growing until it filled the stand, all the time seeming as though it wasn't it that was growing, but everything else that was shrinking.

Raistlin shook off the feeling. It was a trick, a trick meant to keep him off balance, and between commanding the Orb and controlling Fistandantilus, he had to keep himself steady. If not the consequences would be dire.

He forced himself to concentrate on the Dragon Orb. It seemed untouched from its time in the sack and the struggle in which it had been placed there.

As though that thought had summoned him, Raistlin felt his skin crawl as the lich stirred behind the walls he had thrown up. He felt the skin along the back of his arms prickle with cold, the first warning signs. Savagely, he pushed up the barriers keeping the undead creature at bay. No, he thought fiercely.

He was unable to keep from dwelling on the memories of Silvanesti as he examined the Orb, a twisted reminder of what would happen if he failed and was unable to control the artefact. The thought was met with scorn. He had bested both Cyan Bloodbane and the broken shell of Lorac, and defeated Fistandantilus on the lich's own terms. He could command the Dragon Orb. He had the power. He had the control.

Slowly, Raistlin forced himself to relax, keeping his eyes and mind focused on the Orb, watching the colours swirl within its green depths, the faint shadows of dragon wings seeming to reach out to him. In return, he stretched out his own hands to gently cup it, placing his fingertips on the ancient crystal.

The throat froze, as though it had been turned to ice. But he didn't cough, instead, Fistandantilus' cold claws dug into his mind, destroying his focus and shredding his control.

_"Ast bilak mioparalan, Suh akvlar tantangusar."_

He felt his mouth shape the words of magic, could taste them on his tongue and feel them reverberate in his throat, but it hadn't been his voice which had spoken. That voice was as sharp and cold as frost-bitten razors, the vocalisation of the same voice he had heard in his mind for so long.

Fistandantilus had wanted the Orb in Silvanesti, and he wanted it now. The control was tentative, but in Raistlin's moment of distraction, it had been enough to catch him off guard. With a wordless mental snarl, the living mage crushed the lich's control. The Dragon Orb was his, he wasn't about to lose it to a creature which didn't even have a body of his own!

Ignoring the angry clenching in his chest, Raistlin forced out the words, repeating the chant in his own voice, under his own command. "_Ast bilak mioparalan, Suh akvlar tantangusar!"_

As if had only been waiting for him to speak, the green colour swirling within the orb was suddenly joined and swallowed by a myriad of others, twisting and whirling until they were no longer of the spectrum Raistlin knew; nameless colours, spinning faster like water in a maelstrom. The surface of the Orb became even colder, matching the freezing turmoil within the wizard himself.

He could feel the lich's longing for the Orb, for the power it offered, even as his own echoed it. He crushed the undead's control easily, throwing Fistandantilus' mind aside as feeling rushed back into his own body, reclaiming it. But his command was as fragile as his adversary's and just as easily broken; in a heartbeat, Raistlin found himself once again expelled from his own mind by the lich, his thoughts shredded and scattered in an effort to distract him.

He and Fistandantilus were still struggling when the hands drifted out of the light congealing within the Orb. Slender hands, and it was probably his perception that made them seem so much like Dalamar's. Before he could withdraw his numbing hands from the Orb, they closed on his.

His distraction proved to be his undoing; Fistandantilus took the opportunity to strike, driving daggers of pain into Raistlin's mind and forcing control. The world blurring even as it vanished, leaving just the hands, gripping his... Slowly drawing him closer...

Raistlin roughly shoved the lich's mind away as the undead struggled to pull back. Once in command of himself, the young mage bent his mind to the task of pulling away. Letting go was not an option, this dark place would swallow both of them whole, with not even the oblivion of death to offer comfort. Focusing his mind he pulled back, concentrating solely on the cold, tight grip of the hands on his.

And again, Fistandantilus took advantage of his focusing elsewhere to regain command of his body, only to be thrown back again. Blind to the danger, Raistlin defended against yet another attack, struggling only on maintaining control of his own body, fighting off the continued, unending attacks from the undead lich. Again and again they fought, the world sliding in and out of focus around them, their minds warring as much with themselves as with the Orb, whose hands were drawing them slowly ever closer...

His hands were still numb from Fistandantilus' control, and it was only when feeling returned and he felt the crushing pain of the Orb's hands of him, that he became conscious the danger.

The realisation of how close he was to losing control over the Orb hit Raistlin like a dash of cold water, and he felt his shock echoed as Fistandantilus reached the same conclusion. If they lost control everything they were fighting for would be for nothing, leaving them both as destroyed and tormented as Lorac.

Unlike those of the Test and the Nightmare, this agreement went unspoken, a mutual acknowledgment of the disaster that would take them both if they didn't stop fighting each other. Minds bent to the task, they clasped hold of the Orb's hands and pulled back.

It took all of their shared willpower to force their hands back, they were so far gone. Inch by inch, step by step, they recoiled. Raistlin couldn't feel his hands as they pulled away, but whether this was because of Fistandantilus or the Dragon Orb, he didn't know.

Working together, they were more than strong enough to command the orb, and slowly the vice-like grip on Raistlin's numb hands relaxed, no longer pulling, but holding tightly in clasped acknowledgment of control. Holding him up as the exhaustion of mental combat rushed through him.

_"What are you?"_ he asked silently, _"Good? Evil?"_

He thought he heard Fistandantilus laugh in mockery, but the Orb answered, in a voice which was as featureless as its hands, _"I am neither. I am nothing. I am everything. I am the essence of dragons captured long ago."_

_"How do you work?"_ His mental voice was a whisper._ "How do you control the dragons?"_

_"At your command, I will call to them to me, they cannot resist my call, they will obey."_

_"And the Dragonriders?"_ Raistlin felt a jolt as Fistandantilus' voice snapped out like a whip. In his exhaustion, he'd almost forgotten the lich was there. _"Will the dragons turn against them too? Will they fall under my command?"_

_My_ command. Raistlin snarled soundlessly. Not yours.

_"That depends on the strength of the master and the bond between the two. In some instances, this is so strong that the rider can maintain control of the dragon. But most will do as you ask of the. They cannot help themselves."_

I have to study this, Raistlin thought, not sure and not caring if the Orb heard. He tried to push Fistandantilus' mind away, but he didn't seem to be able to focus properly.

The lich ignored his feeble efforts and spoke again, the cold voice cracking the air to icicles. _"The books, yours and mine. They are lost. Do you..."_ The thought broke off, and Raistlin realised the lich was little better off than he was.

_"I know many secrets, things lost, things forgotten."_

_"What secrets?"_ Raistlin demanded. He struggled to stay awake, but he felt his grip on the hands slipping. A bolt of cold shot through him and the world blurred, the grip tightening again. The young wizard struggled against the lich, but exhaustion prevented him from even voicing his protests.

_"What secrets?"_ The undead demanded, the last words Raistlin heard as both his exhaustion and one final shove from the lich sent him tumbling into unconsciousness.

------------------

Raistlin woke up groggily. He was lying on the floor, where he must have fallen at some point. His mind felt strangely blank and for a single, brilliant moment, he thought that he was finally alone within it, that Fistandantilus' had exerted himself to the point of destruction.

But no, he should have known better than to expect the lich to disappear. The presence in his mind was diminished almost to the point of invisibility, but it was still there, and his lungs still caught with every breath -he must have suffered a coughing fit at some point, no doubt his unwanted tenant had tried to draw strength from him.

"Raistlin?"

It occurred to him that his head appeared to be resting on something.

"Raistlin? Are you awake?"

Or someone.

Slowly, Raistlin opened his eyes and stared up into Dalamar's worried eyes, the green light from the Dragon orb throwing strange shadows across his face. The human mage was again suddenly, painfully reminded of the Silvanesti Nightmare, and tried to reach up to touch the elf. His hand lifted a little way, then dropped back down. Dalamar caught hold of his hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"Are you all right?"

Raistlin smiled, and nodded, even that faint movement exhausting him. He was all right. He would have to examine his memories of his duel with the Orb later, but right now he felt nothing but an overwhelming urge to sleep.

He should have been annoyed that Dalamar had disobeyed his orders and come in, no doubt shattering the wards along the way, but he just didn't have the energy. Besides, he was unhurt and there was no one in whose arms Raistlin would rather sleep.

The rest could wait until the morning.

_-------------------_

_Skull Bearer_


	14. To Observe

_phoenixXVI: It is a very long story isn't it? Don't worry, I'm having too much fun with it to leave it alone for too long._

_Dracoqueen22: Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one._

_TempestMuse: Fistandantilus is becoming one character I really like, he's so evil and he makes the perfect antagonist for Raistlin._

_Dalamar Nightson: That's the point of fanfiction, isn't it? Plus, Chronicles is a lot more fun through Raistlin's eyes than Tanis'._

_**Livejournal-**_

_shadowvalkerie: I had a lot of fun writing that chapter. Chapters which pit Raistlin and Fistdandantilus together are rapidly becoming a lot of fun to write. They clash perfectly )  
This chapter covers the last a little, and I hope you like it.  
This is the second-to last chapter of Nocturnale, and I'm already looking forward to finishing it. If only for the reactions._

_lordeantrjay: Thank you!_

_analiathe1st: The difference is that in my fic Fistandantilus has far more of an influence. Instead of just sitting back and draining Raistlin's health, he's actually stuck in Raistlin's mind. It's very fun (and scary) to write.  
Ouch. That hurts, I'm glad my parents are open minded people._

_halokitty69: Struggles are fun, make-up sex is better )  
I like them too, because they are more interesting people. I get to explore more of their facets. Neither of them are quite as evil as their canon counterparts, although they certainly aren't nice._

_Many thanks to Halokitty for doing such a good job with the beta reading, the points you made were excellent and extremely helpful. Don't worry, you weren't being too picky, all the points were valid. Thank you again!_

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Thirteen: To Observe

_I thought I had it all  
I though I had it all worked out  
Just what my future held  
That there would be no doubt  
-Different World, Iron Maiden._

Dalamar had passed the rest of the journey inside the wagon with Raistlin. The human mage had slept most of the day away, but Dalamar hadn't been able to do so much as close his eyes. Every time he did, he saw what he had seen when he'd broken into the wagon the previous night.

Dalamar tried not to shudder at the memory. Raistlin, standing at the table, his hands on the Dragon Orb, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes glazed and unseeing and lifeless in the unearthly green light.  
For a single, horrific minute, Dalamar had thought he was dead, that whatever he had called up had dealt the ultimate toll. Yet even as he watched, the human mage had dragged in a slow, shuddering breath and Dalamar's heart started beating again. Then Raistlin had fallen over.

The Dark elf had rushed to his side, but his lover seemed unhurt. He had actually woken briefly- although he hadn't been able to talk, merely smiling at the Dark elf's questions before falling asleep again.

Dalamar sat on the end of the bunk they shared and looked over at their reward. The Dragon Orb was perched on the rough stand he and Raistlin had carved to hold it. The measurements had been wrong, he realise idly, the orb had been bigger than they'd remembered and it rocked precariously when the wagon hit a rut. The Dark elf looked down at Raistlin's sleeping face, and back at the Orb with loathing. He had hoped, secretly, that Raistlin would fail, that whatever had happened to him in Silvanesti had stayed there. Without it they wouldn't have the Orb, but when he recalled how Raistlin had looked that night, he couldn't help but wonder if it might have been a fair trade. Without the Orb, it would be hard to weather this war; but if with it, they were to lose everything anyway, Dalamar would have rather taken their chances with the Dragonarmies.

The Dark elf shook himself, there was no point bemoaning what might have been, else he'd been here all week. What had happened had happened, and it seemed as though things /had/ gone according to plan; they had the Orb, and Raistlin was unhurt.  
But still, Dalamar couldn't forget what he'd heard, only a few moments after Raistlin had gone into the wagon. A voice, that same voice that had spoken through Raistlin's mouth in Silvanesti, cold and cruel and mocking.

_"Ast bilak mioparalan, Suh akvlar tantangusar."_

He had ignored his lover's words then, forgotten the command to stay outside and thrown open the door- although what he'd been expecting to do he wasn't sure. He'd seen him then, as still and lifeless as Lorac, not moving, not even breathing. Those hourglass eyes fixed on him yet seeing straight through him. He was speaking, but there was no sound, lips moving soundlessly as the colours swirled madly within the Dragon Orb.

_Ast bilak mioparalan, Suh akvlar tantangusar._

Then he'd collapsed, hands sliding off the Orb as a coughing fit gripped him.

Dalamar closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, another one for the nightmares.

Beside him, Raistlin stirred. Dalamar looked down as the human's eyes opened. "Are you alright?" He asked again, repeating his words from when his lover had woken earlier.

Remembering the aftermath of Silvanesti, he hoped Raistlin would be able to talk.

With a sigh, the human mage sat up, drawing the blankets up around his thin chest. He nodded, "Yes, I'm fine." His voice was slightly hoarse, but clear.Dalamar scooted back, and put an arm around Raistlin's shoulders, the mage's skin was warm through the coverlet, warm from sleep and long rest. Dalamar sighed and smiled as Raistlin slid his arms around his shoulders, resting his head on the Dark elf's chest. Dalamar kept an arm around the human's back, keeping the blanket in place as he stroked Raistlin's white hair with his free hand.

Dalamar paused, this wasn't the best time to ask, but he had to know.

"Did it work?"

Raistlin was still for a moment, thinking it over, then he nodded.

The Dark elf smiled, his hand now rubbing over the nape of his lover's neck. "Was it worth it?"

Another pause, then another cautious nod.

Dalamar closed his eyes, lowering his head until his face was buried in the human mage's hair. Raistlin still smelt of the magic, the power of the Dragon Orb clinging to him even now. "I hope so, for both of us."

Then his words were cut off when Raistlin pressed their mouths together, quickly, hungrily, swallowing any other doubts.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time the Companion's wagon rattled into Flotsam. Raistlin had gotten dressed and replaced the Dragon Orb into the enchanted bag. Reassuring Dalamar that this time, he would have no difficulty in removing it if they needed it.

Dalamar had sneered, the Dragon Orb itself was the least of his worries.

These worries got a good deal longer when he and Raistlin left the wagon. Flotsam was crawling with more draconians than they had ever seen in any one place- including Xak Tsaroth. Also, they were far more organised than in Balifor. There, the creatures had been idle- they had been given a routine post and they knew it. Here, they were alert, moving in heavily armed patrols- and taking a particular interest in strangers.

None of them spoke except Tanis- and that was to swear profusely under his breath. They turned off the main road into a small courtyard outside a stable, and Tanis negotiated with the owner to buy the wagon and horses. The price was low enough to make even Caramon wince, but they needed to get rid of the wagon more than they needed the money.

They crowds were thronged, merchants and mercenaries and even the occasional black robed mage hurrying through the streets. More than once Dalamar had to help Raistlin to his feet when he'd been knocked over by a particularly rude or impatient pedestrian.

"We need to find a inn," Tanis explained, "Hopefully cheap, because I don't know how we're going to pay for rooms and a ship at this rate."Even as he spoke, they spotted a Draconian patrol stride into the crowd, moving quickly to surround a young man with ash-blond hair. The man's eyes went wide, and he drew his hood down over his face. Dalamar wondered if he had elven blood. Either way, it was too late. The Draconians cut off his escape and hustled him away for 'questioning'.

The Companions didn't say anything, but raced into the first inn they found. It was a good choice- at least price-wise. Dalamar wrinkled his nose at the smell- a mixture of rotting seaweed and mould. They probably couldn't have found a cheaper place had they looked all over Flotsam.

Their rooms were small and cramped- if marginally less smelly. They all piled into Tanis's room to discuss what to do next.

"We won't be able to get down to the harbour at this rate," Caramon groaned, "Let alone buy our way on a ship! What's going on?"

"The innkeeper says a Dragon Highlord is in town"-  
"Perfect," Dalamar growled.  
Tanis scowled- "The Draconians are apparently searching for spies or something."

Dalamar felt sick. How in the world could the Dragonarmies know they were here? Had they given themselves away during a performance? But no, if that was the case, they would have already been attacked. What would have been the point of waiting? How could they have known? perhaps they didn't, but if not, then who_ were_ they looking for? Too much of a coincidence.

"Maybe they're searching for _us_." Caramon suggested.

"That's ridiculous!" Tanis argued- too quickly. "We're getting spooked. How could anyone know we're here? Or what we carry?"

"I wonder-" Riverwind said slowly, looking over at the two mages. Dalamar snorted. Wonderful. Pax Tharkas all over again. Neither he nor Raistlin bothered to answer the Plainsman.

"There's only one way I can think of," Tanis sighed, "Caramon and I will waylay two of the dragonarmy soldiers. We'll steal their uniforms. Not the draconians-" Tanis put in hurriedly, as Caramon looked mutinous- clearly, his obedience to Tanis didn't stretch _that_ far- "We'll take them from human mercenaries. Then we can move around Flotsam freely.

"I'll come too." Dalamar interjected. At the mixed looks of incredulity and horror, to continued, "In case you haven't noticed, I wear black robes. I saw a few others of my Order on the streets, and no one was arresting them. Besides, we"- he nodded at Raistlin- "need to buy supplies for our spells, and it would somewhat conspicuous if dragonarmy mercenaries in full armor were seen to buy wizarding supplies!"

He ignored Caramon's growl and Riverwind's muttered 'we were not worrying about _you_', and glanced over at Raistlin who nodded thoughtfully. "I have 'research' to do, and it might be best if I did it alone."

Dalamar gritted his teeth, suddenly regretting his decision to go with the others. He half-hoped Tanis would refuse to take him along. It would be infuriating to obey the bastard, but better that than leaving Raistlin to tackle the Dragon Orb alone.

Instead Tanis just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you must. Now I suggest we get dinner sent up and leave after that, hopefully the Draconians will stop sending out patrols after dark." The look on his face told the Dark elf just what he thought of that possibility, but he nodded anyway, and followed Raistlin out of the room.

* * *

Food was an uninspiring mush of bran and old peas that Dalamar wouldn't have fed to his horse. Still, for three coppers you got what you paid for, and they didn't exactly have cash to spare.

"And so you're going to try and use the Dragon Orb again." Dalamar said, looking balefully at Raistlin. "Any chance you could tell me what actually happened last night? I came in after I heard- after I heard_ someone _speaking. Who was that? What happened?"

Raistlin sighed, sitting down on one of the battered driftwood chairs. "I recall deliberately asked you not to come in."

Dalamar looked at him, eyes icy, Raistlin was not changing this subject. "That wasn't your voice. The only time I heard you speak like that was in Silvanesti, and if you believe that I would do nothing after what happened last time-" He broke off, biting his lip.

Raistlin touched the pocket that held the Dragon orb, and didn't argue the point. "What did you see?" He put in.

Dalamar snorted, "I saw you, standing with your hands on the Orb, and blood running down your face. You weren't breathing"- Dalamar gritted his teeth, forcing his voice not to crack- "Then you started again and fell over."

The human mage leant in closer, "How long was it between when you heard the voice and when I fell over?"

Another burst of anger; "Raistlin, this is beside the point-"

Raistlin lifted a hand, "Please, tell me."

Dalamar shrugged, "I wasn't exactly counting; a few seconds perhaps? Not more than a minute, certainly."

Raistlin blinked, and shook his head, "It seemed like hours."

The Dark elf brushed the words aside like an annoying fly, "This is besides the point- _what happened?_ What did you see? What was-"

"You know perfectly well that I can't answer these questions." Raistlin hissed.

"And you know perfectly well that I can't let you risk yourself again unless I know what is happening." Dalamar snapped back.

"You make it sound as though I want to keep you in the dark," Raistlin growled, his voice growing hoarse in the first warning signs of a coughing fit. "I have to take this risk. You let me take the Test, and we both knew what a risk that is-"

"Precisely! We _knew_ what a risk it is! I don't know what kind of risk you're taking, and that is why I don't want you taking it."

Raistlin's eyes were cold, hourglass shadows. "You once trusted me enough to let me judge what I could and couldn't do."

Dalamar didn't answer, there wasn't anything he could say.

"I know I can do this." Raistlin's voice softened, he hand touching Dalamar's. "I did it before, and this will be different, I won't have to call on"- His voice cracked and he coughed dryly- "On that."

"Then by the Gods let me stay." Dalamar whispered, "If you can't tell me the risks, let me see them for myself."

Raistlin shook his head, "You'd see even less than what you saw when you came in yesterday. Besides, you said yourself you need to go with the others to stop them doing anything stupid. I need herbs for my tea and we both need spell components. You know better that to let those idiots buy anything, we'd send them out for bat guano and they'd come back with rose petals!"

Dalamar smiled despite himself and finished his meal, "And while you're there," Raistlin added, "See if you can't convince them to head to Palanthas. There are books in the library, books of magic-" Raistlin broke off, doubling over and his cough shook him.

He smiled thinly and wiped the blood from his lips, "Books on how to control the Dragon Orb. We'll need to go there." He quickly gulped down a mouthful of tea, grimacing at the taste.

Dalamar nodded, not bothering to ask how Raistlin knew. The human mage had barely been able to get his words out before his cough had overcome him, and the Dark elf didn't want him to risk another fit.

Dalamar sighed and got up. The others would be on their way out by now. Time to go.

"Take care of yourself." Raistlin said, reaching over the squeeze his shoulder.

Dalamar snorted, "Keep your blessings for yourself, you'll need them more than I will." He kissed the human mage's forehead. "Be careful, please."

Raistlin nodded, and Dalamar forced a smile as he picked up his bag and the list of what they needed, and left the room.

* * *

The streets of Flotsam were emptier now, although Tanis' hope that the Draconian patrols would stop had been a vain one. Dalamar pulled his hood up to hide his elven features and hoped the colour of his robes would be enough to dissuade anyone from detaining him.

He tried not to think about what Raistlin was doing in the inn he'd left behind, and concentrated on finding the ship Pig-faced William had told them about. The ship was called the Perechon, and it should be in port about this time. If it wasn't, Dalamar hoped he'd be able to track down another ship, even if they had to leave the others behind and travel alone.

The Flotsam docks were ratty and badly kept, although he saw a few slave gangs that the Dragonarmies were putting to work to repair the worst of the damage. There wasn't anything they could do for the smell, though, which was nauseating- a mixture of rotting fish and the ever-present dead seaweed.

Most of the ships moored to the main jetties belonged to the Dragonarmies and had Draconians standing guard around them. Dalamar gave these a wide berth and carried on up the dock. By what William had said, the Perechon's captain dabbled in the occasional bit of pirating and smuggling, and so was unlikely to moor near the Dragonarmy ships.

The docks deteriorated as he went further south, as did the ships. Most of them were patched and leaking, with barnacles clinging to every available surface. Dalamar ignored them, heading to the few ships that appeared to be a relatively good condition. One in particular caught his eye. It was clean, as though it had been careened recently, the timbers were neat and well fitting, and unlike the other ships it wasn't a sloop, but a two master. Dalamar smiled at the name emblazoned under the dragon-head prow. '_The Perechon'_. Perfect.

Dalamar could easily believe that the ship had done it's share of pirating; the hull was sleek and the sails wide, built for speed. All for the best, speed was what they wanted. Unlike some of the other two-masters in the bay, it's hull was shallow enough to be moored directly to the jetty, rather than further out like many other others. Again, a good thing, it meant it could sail through waters that would leave another ship grounded. If they really were being pursued by the Dragonarmies, it would be hard to find a better ship.

The Dark elf's head snapped around, feeling the skin on the back of his neck prickle. He was being watched. On the edge of the jetty were two members of the Dragonarmies. Dalamar was about to reach for his spell components when he noticed how their armor didn't quite fit. The taller's chainmail was practically bursting off his body, while the shorter was moving uncomfortably, as if unsure how to walk in armor.

Dalamar smiled, about time they got here.

* * *

The gangplank was down, and although the only crewman on deck was apparently dumb, he understood them well enough after they'd explained they weren't actually from the Dragonarmies, and led them downstairs to the captain's cabin.

The captain proved to be a tall, handsome woman with skin the colour of polished ebony. Dalamar remembered that the Solace blacksmith, Theros Ironfeld, had skin the same colour. They must be from the same land. The woman's hair was tightly curled and bound with a band of gold. Dalamar filed that detail away carefully, he had been in Flotsam only a few hours and he could already see what a rough place it was, if this woman could flaunt her wealth so confidently in this place, it meant that either she could defend herself or was connected with people who could. Judging by the well-worn hilt of her dagger, it was the former.

"My name's Maquesta Kar-thon," she said briskly after reading over the letter of recommendation that Pig-faced William had given them. "Let me guess, you're _not_ officers in he dragonarmy. Not unless they're hiring elves these days." She gave Tanis and Dalamar a cool, appraising look.

The Half-elf flushed and pulled over his helmet. "Is it that obvious?"

Maquesta shrugged, "Probably not to anyone else. Not many will bother to look past the colour of this one's robes"- She nodded at Dalamar, "And your beard's very good. The helm hides your ears. But unless you get a mask, those pretty, almond-shaped eyes of yours are a dead give away. But then, not many Draconians are apt to look in your pretty eyes, are they?"

Dalamar snorted, wondering if he should tell to woman that if she wanted Tanis' attention she'd have to get on the waiting list.

Maquesta smirked, "Odd lot you are though, A half-elf, a human the size of a minotaur, and a Dark elf. What's the rest of you? Two Thanoi and a gully dwarf?"

Dalamar couldn't help but grin back, wondering what she'd make of Raistlin. His smile faded at the reminder, and he fought down the urge to race back to the inn to check on his lover. Raistlin would be fine.

"We're here to discuss business, Captain Maque-" Tanis stumbled over the name.

"Sure you are, and call me Maq. Easier for both of us. It's well you've got this letter from Pig-faced William, or I wouldn't even have talked to you. But he says you're square and you're money's good"- And it should be, Dalamar smirked, since it was _his_ money for the most part- "so I'll listen. Now, where're you bound?"

"Palanthas." Dalamar put in before any of the others could speak.

"Why Palanthas?" Tanis scowled, "We didn't discuss this."

"Raistlin and I need to go to Palanthas, and do you have any better ideas?"

Caramon looked at him suspiciously, "Why?"

"You can ask him when we get back," Dalamar brushed him off and turned back to the smirking Maquesta.

"Enough." Tanis interrupted, "Let's just say that we need to go around the Cape of Nordmaar. If at that point we decide to go on and find each other's company agreeable, we'll continue. If not, we'll pay you off, and you put us in a safe harbour."

"Kalaman." Maquesta said, still smiling. "That's a safe harbour. As safe as any these days anyway. Any further is negotiable."

"_Safe_ delivery at Kalaman." Tanis insisted.

Maquesta shrugged, "Who can promise? It's a rough time of year to travel by sea." She stretched, and Dalamar couldn't help but admire the play of muscles as she did so.

Quite despite himself, Dalamar was impressed by the woman. She was very good looking, and had the kind of attitude he found very attractive in women. The Dark elf smiled, it was all academic anyway. It always irritated Raistlin when he eyed up attractive women, which was all the more reason to do it. It had become almost an ongoing joke, although there was never any real tension. He could look, but they both knew it would be Raistlin's bed he would sleep in that night, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"It's a deal," By the look in her eyes, Dalamar suspected she had noticed his attention, "Come on, I'll show you the ship."

The deck of the ship did nothing to change Dalamar's impressions of a well-kept, speedy vessel. Maquesta ran a tight ship and clearly loved it dearly; speaking of it in the same tones that Raistlin used when speaking about Dalamar. Pig-faced William had made a good choice in sending them to her, if anyone could get them out of the Draconian-choked port, she could.

The ship was quiet, and Maquesta explained that her crew was ashore. The only person they saw was the mute that had let them on the ship, sitting in a corner mending a sail, he looked up as they approached.

Dalamar frowned, there was something familiar about this man.

"_Nocesta_, Berem." Maquesta addressed him, gesturing to her companions, "_Nocesta_, customers, money."

The man nodded and went back to work. He was tall and well built, but there was an odd quality about his that suggested elven blood. He seemed oddly ageless, eyes too young for a face that suggested a human in his fifties. His hair was grey, his skin as weather-beaten as any sailors, although strangely he was clean shaven. Most of the old sea-dogs Dalamar had seen in Balifor had beards you could hide in. His hands was also odd, smooth and deft as he sewed the sail.

Dalamar frowned. He was definitely seen this man before. He wished Raistlin was here to talk this over with, that always helped him think. Where had he seen him. Not recently, that was for sure. In Balifor? No, he couldn't remember him. Anyway, Pig-face William had said Maquesta would have been in port for a few months already, to get her ship careened. Tarsis perhaps? No. _Where?_

"Who is he?" Tanis asked as they turned to go back to the cabin.

It was those eyes, Dalamar decided, those strange, too-young eyes. He had seen them before. The memory flickered on the edge of recollection, maddeningly. Those eyes were at peace now, but he had seen them half-closed in resignation. _Where?_

"Who? Berem? Oh, he's the helmsman. Don't know much about him. He came around a few months back, looking for work. We took him on as a deckswab. Then my helmsman was killed in a small altercation with- well, never mind. But this fellow turned out to be a damn good hand at the wheel, better than the first, in fact. He's an odd one, though. A mute. Never speaks. Never goes ashore, if he can help it. Wrote his name down for me in the ship's book, or I wouldn't know that much about him. Why?"

Again Dalamar grasped for the memory, he almost had it. Where had he seen this man before? And why did it seem so important?

"I've seen him somewhere," Tanis murmured. How about you Caramon, do you remember him?"

"Ah, come on," Caramon shook his head, "We'd seen hundreds of people in these past months, Tanis, he was probably at one of our shows."

"No," Tanis shook his head. "When I first saw him, I thought of Pax Tharkas and Sturm..."

Pax Tharkas? Yes, that sounded about right. But where? There had been hundreds of people there. But where?

Then Maquesta broke in and the moment was lost. "Hey, I got a lot of work to do, Half-elf. You coming, or you gonna stare at a man mending a sail?"

Dalamar shook his head and sighed, following the woman down the hatch. It probably didn't matter anyway.

* * *

Dalamar walked down the gangway after Caramon and Tanis, the deal had been made, and for less than he'd feared. Caramon was off back to the inn, Tanis to get supplies and Dalamar resigned himself to finding an apothecary at this time of night. His worries for Raistlin nagged and he'd almost asked Caramon to look in and see if his brother was alright, he decided against it, mostly because Raistlin would never forgive him. He put his fears aside aside, there was nothing he could do but trust that the human mage had known what he was doing.

With a sigh, Dalamar walked back up the to main docks. If there was a high street, it would be there. He kept his eyes on the shop fronts, keeping to the shadows of the buildings.

Most of the shops were closed at this time of night, and Dalamar was beginning to lose hope of finding anything. He had walked past most of the docks and all he'd found were shops selling rope, shops selling fish hooks, shops selling sails, shops selling just about anything _but_ herbs and all of them closed!

At last, he spotted a likely target. 'Medisins and oyntmets' the sign outside proclaimed. The show was so grubby it was hard to tell if it was open or closed. Dalamar banged on the door. Even if it _was_ closed, he wasn't going away empty handed.

"We're not open!" Someone shouted from upstairs.

"Yes, you are." Dalamar shouted back, continuing to pound on the door.

"Go away!"

The Dark elf glanced up and down the road, nobody. "If you don't open the door right now," he said menacingly, "I'll have the Dragon Highlord down here to hear why you won't serve a member of the army!"

The bluff worked, the shopkeep raced down to unlock the door, white-faced. He didn't look Dalamar in the face; muttering apologies and wiping at his forehead and long nose with a night cap as he bowed the Dark elf in.

The shop was poorly stocked, and that was mostly with various shoddy cure-alls and quack medicines. Still, Dalamar did see a small section dedicated to various spell components. It was limited and overpriced, but it was enough to re-stock both their supplies for a while at least, long enough to reach Kalaman at any rate, presuming they weren't attacked. Unfortunately, he had none of the herbs Raistlin would need for his tea, so Dalamar paid the man for the components and enquired if there were any other apothecaries in town. The man, who appeared so terrified that he would have eaten his own legs if Dalamar ordered him to do so, nodded hard and babbled directions. The Dark elf nodded, "Very good, if they have what I need I might _just_ forget to mention your lack of cooperation to the Dragon Highlord"  
Dalamar couldn't hide a smile as the shopkeep's knees nearly gave way under the threat. Leaving the trembling man behind, he swept out of the shop.

The second apothecary was even worse-stoked than the last, although it was open. The herbs it sold were withered and old, but they would serve. Dalamar was just paying when a scuffle outside caught his attention.

Peering through the grubby mullioned windows, he saw an elf, dressed in rags, attack a dragonarmy officer. Dalamar frowned, staring at the officer, then his eyes went wide. Tanis.  
The Half-elf was trying to free himself from the frenzied attacks without hurting his attacker, shouting at him in elven.

Dalamar slipped out of the shop, someone was coming- drawn, no doubt, by Tanis' shouts. They would quickly see that Tanis wasn't an officer at all and their whole cover would be blown. Dalamar planned for both he and Raistlin to be far away by the time that happened.

A glance back froze him to the spot. The person who had come, and who had just run the elf through with their sword was none other than a Dragon Highlord! There was no mistaking the dragonscale armor and the grimacing helm-mask.

"I heard you shouting and saw one of my officers in trouble." The voice was muffled from the helm, but was undoubtably that of a woman. "I guessed you needed some help." The Highlord reached down to help Tanis to his feet.

The Half-elf mumbled something that might have been thanks, and Dalamar crept closer, making sure to keep in the shadows and ducking behind a horse trough.

The Highlord was about to turn and leave when suddenly they stopped, staring at the Half-elf. "Tanis?"

The bottom dropped out of Dalamar's stomach. _How?_

"Tanis! It is you!" The Dragon Highlord grabbed her mask and pulled it off. Dalamar stared, there was no mistaking that crooked smile, that curly hair, those dark eyes.

Kitiara.

Dalamar felt weak with shock, for all that a part of him didn't feel surprised at all. His shoulder ached at the memory of their last meeting and he fought down a shudder. The Dark elf didn't move, he had no doubt that if Kitiara saw him, she would happily cut him down again.

"So Tanis! An officer, and in my own command. I should review my troops more often!" Kitiara laughed, sliding an arm around Tanis, "You're shaking. You took a nasty fall. Come on. My rooms aren't far from here. We'll have a drink, patch up that wound, then... talk."

Dalamar watched as the two walked out of sight, then stood and ran back to their inn. It was anyone's guess what would happen now. Kitiara seemed to accept that Tanis was part of her army- to think that he'd always thought she was closer to Raistlin than Caramon in terms of brains!- it was just a matter if Tanis could keep her convinced. Not that that was likely to become an issue for some time, judging by her words. The only talking they were likely to indulge in was pillow-talk.

He ducked through the low doorway into the inn, and climbed up the rickety stairs to their room.  
The door was locked, and Dalamar banged on it until Raistlin opened up.

The human mage was unhurt, although the cloth bag on the table told Dalamar that he had studied the Dragon Orb in his absence. In the frantic rush of the last few minutes, Dalamar had completely forgotten about his earlier fears. They returned like a kick to the stomach and he looked closely at Raistlin, making sure he was unhurt.  
Raistlin looked tired, his face drawn and pale from he stress of controlling the artefact, and an empty mug of tea on the table suggested that he'd had a coughing fit. Dalamar felt a stab of guilt for leaving Raistlin to suffer through this alone. For all that the human mage had insisted he could cope, his task had taken it's toll.

"Are you alright?" They asked each other at the same time.

Raistlin smiled, but Dalamar just collapsed on the edge of the ship's bunk that made up one of the two beds, and sighed.

Before Raistlin could ask, he quickly summed up what he had seen; Tanis, the attack, Kitiara. Raistlin's eyes went wide as Dalamar spoke his sister's name.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

"After what happened the last time I met her? Yes, I'm most definitely sure!" Fear was making him irritable, and the words came out far harsher than he had meant them.

Raistlin winced. "And Tanis went with her?"

Dalamar snorted, "Of course, she recognised him. And no doubt he _missed_ her just as much as she missed him."

Raistlin closed his eyes, "Wonderful timing. But she believes he is part of her army? Does she know we're here?"

"Yes to the first, but I don't know what Tanis told her where we're concerned. She didn't see me, I know that."

"There's no point telling the others," Raistlin said slowly, "You were the only one who saw her- other than Tanis, of course?" Dalamar nodded. "- Then it would be useless. They would never believe us, and don't forget what Riverwind said this afternoon. To say something like this about their _dear _Tanis would only invite suspicion upon ourselves."

"So what do we do?" Dalamar asked, "Leave before it's too late?"

Raistlin shook his head, "Where to? The Dragonarmies are overrunning the country, we wouldn't get far. Our best bet would be to wait and hope Tanis doesn't tell her where we are."

Dalamar walked over to the window and looked out, nodding. "We found the ship, by the way. We've booked passage but it's sailing in four days." He turned back to Raistlin lifting an eyebrow sardonically, "What happens if your sister hasn't let Tanis out of her bed by then?"

Raistlin snorted. "Then we leave, whether or not he's there, whether or not the others are coming. We take our share of the money, and we leave before Kitiara realises Tanis isn't actually part of her army."

Dalamar nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought. We'll do that." He sighed again, looking out over the ramshackle streets of Flotsam, half-expecting to see a platoon of Draconians marching down to arrest them.

_Skull Bearer._


	15. To Betray

_TempestMuse: Things only get thicker from here, I'm afraid. DoSD is going to be very different from anything else I've written (to be honest, I'm a little scared)._

_Shadow Valkyrie: Dalamar has a whole category of things that go into his nightmares, Tarsis, Silvanesti (both times), Raistlin's Test, the time they were fighting ogres in the Kaolyn mountains and the whole plateau they were on gave way, I could go on. But he really doesn't need any additions. Of course, we all know he's going to get them, regardless. ;)_

_Fading Echo: splutter What? Implausible? Do we have a heretic in our midst? How dare you blaspheme the holiness that is Raistlin/Dalamar slash! Oh. I see, you're a new convert. Okay, we'll dispense with the burning and give you a second chance. grumbles  
Seriously, I'm glad you like it, although I think I'm being a bit unfair to the good guys, still, I am writing from a POV which very much distains 'good guys', so how much is too much?  
I hope you have your computer back in time to read this._

_Dalamar Nightson: Antagonists do make things more interesting, although Raistlin and Dalamar might not agree )  
Not quite the end yet, this ended up being very long, so the end will be next chapter._

_Livejournal-_

_analiathe1st: Thank you very much._

_sookail: Air is good, and for writers, reviews are better :), thank you._

_DeviantART-_

_extra special thank you to Myar for promising me another lovely Raistlin/Dalamar pic. I'm looking forward to it already!_

_halokitty: Thank you._

_Analiathe1st: Thank you for the beta._

_Also if anyone is interested, I have finally posted some art on my DeviantART page, so if you want to see my pictures of the characters, go here:  
http://skull-bearer. so I was wrong, one more chapter after this._

_**Edit note: since I didn't like the ending of this chapter, it has been re-written, sorry about this.**_

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Fourteen- To Betray

_I tell the stories in your sleep,  
and spell the words you cannot find,  
I am your forsaken mind.  
Revelations, Angels and Agony_

It was a long three days.

They didn't dare leave the inn, only leaving their rooms for meals. The others followed their example, much to the mages' surprise. They hadn't related where Tanis was to them, so they simply thought him missing. Caramon had made a few tentative suggestions to go out and look for their missing friend, but had been talked out of it by Tika. If Tanis had been gone this long, he had almost undoubtedly fallen into enemy hands. Raistlin had suppressed a snort. Enemy _arms_ more like.

It had been nerve-racking, constantly on edge, half-expecting every patrol that passed the inn to break in and arrest them. But all had passed without incident; barring the time three draconians had snuck away from their platoon and paid the inn a visit, an occurrence that had nearly given their presence away. It had only been the sight of the three monsters getting messily drunk that had kept them from attacking.

But finally, it was the night before they were to sail. Tanis still hadn't appeared and Raistlin was starting to wonder if it might be just a little too long now. Surely even Kitiara couldn't stay in bed that long; she was a Dragon Highlord after all. Raistlin reconsidered that last statement and mentally amended it- yes, Kit_ would_ do that- but still, it would be unlike his sister not to try and gain some information while Tanis was with her; it had been more than five years since they met- not counting the Nightmare- and surely she would be interested to know where her lover had been. What happened then would matter on how good a liar Half-elven was.

He could imagine it all too well; the two would have spent a few hours in bed, and Kitiara would ask a question. Innocently prying. Tanis would answer without thinking, and let something slip. He'd try and cover it up, but if there was anything Tanis was worse at than lying, it was trying to pretend he wasn't lying. Kitiara would realise the truth and then it would be down to the dungeons for a more in-depth interrogation. Raistlin wasn't stupid enough to believe his sister would let Tanis get in the way of her ambition, not this same person who had been perfectly ready to let _him_ die before he gained enough power to threaten her.

The only question, Raistlin decided, was how long it would take before Tanis told Kitiara all she wanted to know, and she dispatched an army of Draconians after them. Hopefully not before they had sailed, and then it wouldn't matter.

But then again, if Kitiara knew where they were, then she knew where they were sailing to, and she would make sure the place was crawling with Draconians by the time they arrived. Not to mention -a sickening twist- that as a Dragon Highlord, Kitiara had access to dragons which could easily follow the ship and burn it to ashes.

And wasn't it possible that Tanis had already told Kitiara everything, and instead of sending out Draconians to the inn, and risk losing an already wary prey, she simply set up an ambush at the Perechon and waited for her prey to come to her?

Raistlin shuddered, and burrowed closer to Dalamar. Either way, it would be Tarsis all over again, and he didn't know if he had enough control over the Dragon Orb to stop them getting massacred.

Raistlin glanced over at the table where the Dragon Orb lay in its enchanted bag. He hadn't touched it in three days, and had a creeping dread of touching it again. It wasn't that his last attempt had gone badly, exactly. He had discovered more of the Orb's powers, those of telepathy and teleportation. But yet...

There was Fistandantilus for one thing. The lich hadn't attacked him since he took control of the Orb, but Raistlin could feel him stirring on the edges of his mind when he had communicated with the Orb. It could have been his imagination, but his hands had grown strangely numb when he held the artefact. Although what the lich wanted, Raistlin didn't know. He had control of the Orb, didn't he?

Raistlin kept repeating those words to himself, but the truth was, he didn't know. There was something unwelcoming about it. It felt uncomfortable in his hands, as thought its very substance repelled him- or perhaps, was repelled by him. Raistlin had no idea if this was normal with the Orbs, but when he compared it with the only other artefact he knew- the Staff of Magius- he felt there was something wrong.

The Orb's attitude towards him was another worry. He had expected, having subdued it, that it would serve him. Yet when he touched it, he felt like a child being given leave to play with an adult's possession- something he didn't and would never understand. It was immensely frustrating, and Raistlin was certain the Orb was keeping secrets from him.

Perhaps Dalamar was right, Raistlin mused, starting up at the cracked ceiling. Perhaps the Orb did hold the knowledge of how he could rid himself of his unwelcome guest, and that Fistandantilus was deliberately keeping that from him. The thought that the lich could have any control over the artefact was a frightening one by itself, although since the creature hadn't tried to use it yet, Raistlin hoped that his influence- if any- was limited.

The whole situation was a mass of fearsome illusions that might just be real, and Raistlin longed to be free of them. It was like being caught in a spiral of dread, each fear feeding off the others and dragging him further and further down...

"Raistlin!"

Raistlin jerked awake, he hadn't realised he had dosed off. He didn't understand what had woken Dalamar. The room was as dark and dank as ever, the only sound that of the rising gale rattling the ill-fitting shutters.

"What?" He mouthed, knowing Dalamar would see it.

The Dark elf pressed a finger to his lips, sitting perfectly still.

Now Raistlin could hear the sound that had woken Dalamar. The heavy footsteps and clinking metal of someone wearing armour came from downstairs.

The two mages looked at each other, and scrambled out of bed. They had prepared for such an eventuality; their belongings were packed and they had slept dressed. Raistlin pulled his boots on, grabbed his staff and pack, and slipped the Dragon Orb into a pocket of his robes before following Dalamar out the door.

The armoured stranger's footsteps were coming closer to the stairs, and Raistlin ducked behind a pile of barrels that were stacked next to the stairs. He and Dalamar had gone over several methods of escaping, in fear of this very event. This one would serve nicely.

Dalamar ducked behind a corner of the corridor as the invader mounted the stairs. A scout most likely, Raistlin decided, feeling slightly relieved. It meant the rest of the troop was probably outside, but he felt better now the time had come to act. The waiting was always the worst part.

Hearing the footsteps come closer, Raistlin tightened his grip on his staff with one hand, the other reaching in a pocket to check on the Dragon Orb.

He couldn't see the figure as it mounted the stairs, there were no windows in the corridor, and unlike Dalamar, he couldn't see in the dark. Luckily, that meant that whoever was mounting the stairs couldn't see him either. Peering around one barrel, he could make out the outline of an armoured figure as it passed him, even blacker than the darkness around it. The only mercy was that it was too short to be a draconian.

Raistlin held his breath as he threaded his staff behind the figure's legs, and rapped the butt on the wooden floor.

Surprised by the sudden noise, the stranger started to turn, only to be thrown back by Dalamar as the Dark elf flew at him. The figure staggered back with a grunt, which turned into a shout when Raistlin's staff knocked his legs out from under him, and finished as a brief cry as he sailed down the stairs and struck the floor with a crash that shook the inn to its foundations.

Dalamar pulled Raistlin to his feet and they leaped for the stairs as further bangs sounded, and the inn keep, the cook, the barmaid, and the rest of the Companions raced out to see what all the fuss was about.

Raistlin was halfway down the stairs before he wondered where the Dragonarmy patrol they had expected was. A few more steps down, he puzzled why a Dragonarmy scout would have been sent out to spy on them in full armour. A few more steps went by before he realised that their invader's dragonarmour fitted him very badly, in fact, several pieces had broken off when he'd hit the ground. By the time they had reached the ground floor, they weren't even hurrying any more, and Raistlin was completely unsurprised when Dalamar kicked off the figure's helm to reveal Tanis' unconscious face.

He and Dalamar shared a look that was half exasperation, half disgust, then realised they were no longer alone. Both the inn's patrons and staff were standing in various stages of descending the stairs, looking down at them with varying expressions of shock and horror.

"Tanis," Goldmoon murmured, clapping one hand over her mouth.

"A Dragonarmy officer!" The innkeeper shrieked, pulling at his hair in terror. "You just killed a Dragonarmy officer! They'll have our heads! They'll burn the Jetties to the ground! They'll cook us and feed us to those lizard-monsters! Get out of my inn!"

"Tanis?" Tika whispered, starting down only to be beaten to it by Goldmoon. The priestess knelt down beside the unconscious Half-elf, resting one hand on his forehead, murmuring a prayer. A soft blue light bathed the Half-elf's face and he let out a groan.

"He will be fine." She sighed, getting to her feet and glowering at Dalamar witheringly. "Was that strictly necessary?"

"We thought he was from the Dragonarmies!" Dalamar snapped, "How were we to know? And shut up!" The last was directed at the still babbling innkeeper, who Tika was trying to reassure. No, the Dragonarmies were not going to burn the inn to the ground. No, they had not just witness true healing. No, the unconscious man was not an officer in the Dragonarmies. Why was he wearing a Dragonarmy uniform? Well... um...

Tanis was slowly coming around, groaning. The helmet must have stopped him from suffering significant damage, but he no doubt had a headache to put the worse hangover to shame. Goldmoon and Caramon helped him over to a chair while Tika, with a bit of help from a few steel pieces, persuaded the inn staff that there had been no disturbance and that they had really slept the whole night uninterrupted.

"What exactly happened?" Tanis rested his head on the table, only looking up when Goldmoon handed him a glass of water.

"These two lunatics," Tika sent the two mages a very nasty look, "Thought you were from the Dragonarmies and knocked you down the stairs."

"And what, pray, were we supposed to think?" Raistlin hissed. "You are gone for three nights, during which we hear no word from you, so we expect you've been captured. Then you turn up, absolutely fine, and still in the armour you-" Raistlin broke off, one hand going to his mouth as his cough struck without warning. He held onto the table for balance as the spasms shook him, tasting the blood he hacked up. He felt Dalamar rub his back soothingly with one hand, the other holding a handkerchief to his lips. Raistlin's hand closed on the elf's arm for support, his grip growing painful as the iron bars around his lungs tightened. Finally, it passed, and he relaxed his grip on the elf's arm. He drew in a ragged breath, smiling his thanks through bloodstained lips.

The others were silent, looking at Tanis thoughtfully, finally Goldmoon spoke, her voice soothing, "We are glad you are all right, my friend, but where /have/ you been? We've all been worrying about what might have happened."

Raistlin pulled up a stool next to the fireplace and stoked up the last dying embers of the fire. He pulled out a tin mug from his pack and the waterskin from Dalamar's, keeping one eye on Tanis as he made his tea.

Confronted by four enquiring faces and one accusing- Dalamar's- Tanis started to explain. He had run into the Dragon Highlord, and been captured- that was one use for the word that Raistlin had never heard before. As the Highlord had believed Tanis to be one of his officers, he had been pressed into serving. "I think Half-human means 'servicing'," Dalamar muttered, smiling grimly at Raistlin, who kept his head down to hide his own smile as he placed the mug by the embers to warm.

He looked up as Tanis finished his tale with a probably fictional account of his escape from the Dragonarmies. Most likely Tanis had skulked out of Kitiara's bed when the Highlord discovered her duties couldn't be put off any longer. But the others would never believe him if he told them. They'd believe Tanis if he told them the sky was green. Worse, Half-elven was quite deliberately deceiving them on accounts of the danger. What would happen when Kitiara returned to her bed and discovered him gone? She would probably turn the whole of Flotsam upside down in search of her errant lover- and discover them in the meantime.

Raistlin and Dalamar were silent as the others started to ask questions. How much of it was true and how much lies, only Tanis knew. The Half-elf avoided questions about the Highlord and his armies, so what little he did say about them was probably made up. An account of what he was asked to do was barely touched upon, and that was certainly fabricated. The only item of truth, as far as Raistlin could see, was when Tanis explained what the Dragonarmies were doing in Flotsam. Caramon had asked if the Dragonarmies were after them, and Tanis had replied that no, they weren't. They were searching for some human, called Berem or somesuch. Not only was this bit of information completely unlike the lies Tanis was covering himself with, but Dalamar had started slightly at the name. Obviously he knew who this was, although his face betrayed no expression.

Finally, they ran out of questions, and Tanis started to yawn and groan. Whether his exhaustion was real or feigned, Raistlin didn't know, but it fooled the others.

"I'm sorry, Tanis," Goldmoon apologised. "We've been selfish. You are cold and weary-" Raistlin snorted into his tea, earning himself another scowl from the Plainswoman- "and we've kept you up too long. We must be up early to board the ship-"

"Damn it, Goldmoon!" Tanis' voice was shockingly loud, and apparently Tanis regretted it because he closed his eyes and rubbed his head with one hand, "We won't be boarding a ship in this gale." He growled.

Raistlin swallowed a mouthful of his tea, watching the faces of the other companions. They looked stunned, and Riverwind stepped closer to comfort his wife, who was looking deeply hurt as well as shocked.

Caramon cleared his throat awkwardly, "If we can't leave tomorrow, we'll try the next day-"

Dalamar and Raistlin looked at each other. Tomorrow might well be a day too late. If the others weren't leaving, they /they/ would. Better to take their chances alone than stay with Tanis when Kitiara found him.

Tanis rested his head on his hands and sighed, "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you Goldmoon. It's been... nerve-racking... these past few days. I'm so tired I can't think straight. I'll go upstairs."

"You're room's been let out," Caramon put in, "But you can take my bed Tanis, I'll sleep on the floor."

Half-elven shook his head, "No, you-"

"Tanis," Tika said firmly, "You're hurt-" another nasty look at the perpetrators- "and you're tired. It's alright, we'll share the bed and you'll take the spare."

Tanis capitulated and nodded, and followed the others as they trooped back to their rooms. Raistlin finished his tea and packed away the mug, making a mental note to wash it later, and followed Tanis up the stairs.

"Tell me Half-elven," He whispered as he reached him, "Did you spend all your time in my sister's bed? Or was at there at least some truth in your little fiction?"

Had he hit Half-elven with a lightning bolt, the effect couldn't have been more electric. Tanis' eyes went so wide they seemed about to roll from their sockets, and his hand snatched to the pommel of his sword.

"Because if you did," Dalamar put in, standing next to Raistlin, his own hand going to his spell components, "Have the grace to admit it next time. These sheep would forgive you if you sold their souls to the Dark Queen- no need to be modest."

Half-elven was speechless, looking first at Raistlin, then at the Dark elf. "You-"

"Yes," Dalamar waved off his accusations idly, "But don't let us keep you." He nodded at Caramon and Tika who were waiting for Tanis at the top of the stairs, "You must be truly tired; three days solid! That'll take it out of anyone."

Raistlin slid an arm around the Dark elf's shoulders, and the two stepped past the thunderstruck Half-elf. "Interesting standards you have, Tanis." Raistlin whispered as they passed.

* * *

They didn't even try to sleep that night. Raistlin lit the candles and Dalamar stoked up the fire in the miserable grate before they sat beside it to talk. "Who's Berem?" Raistlin asked before Dalamar could speak.

"Berem? Oh, right, yes." Dalamar nodded and leant closer, "He was on the Perechon when we went there, a mute, he looked strangely familiar and I could swear I'd seen him somewhere before."

"But why send out a whole army after just one man?" Raistlin murmured, "Have you any idea where you might know him from?"

Dalamar shook his head, "No. I can't recall. It wasn't that long ago, but I just can't-" the Dark elf sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

Raistlin smiled, and stoked his hair, the fine strands slipping through his fingers like water. "Either way," he sighed, smile vanishing, "It just makes things more complicated. So Kitiara won't just be after Tanis when she realises he's missing, but also someone on the very ship we're planning to take. And all we can do is hope she doesn't realise where either of these people are before tomorrow."

Dalamar inclined his head, "Then it's decided, we're leaving?"

Raistlin nodded, "I'm not staying here any longer than I have too. If the Perechon is sailing tomorrow, then we will be on it. If not, then I suggest finding other means out of the city, or at the very least different accommodation- preferably as far from Half-elven as possible." Raistlin paused and swallowed, trying to keep his breathing even as his chest tightened warningly.

Dalamar tapped his lower lip thoughtfully, "Do you think it might be worth telling the captain that the Dragonarmies are after the ship? We don't have to tell them about Berem, just suggesting that they want to commandeer the ship, or they want the crew arrested for piracy. Give them a reason to leave as soon as possible."

Raistlin nodded again, quite besides their own predicament, whatever the Dragonarmies wanted this Berem for, it couldn't be good. They wouldn't send an army after him if he was just a deserter, this had to be someone of some power. Either way, they had both done enough to mark themselves as firm enemies of the Dragonarmies, and anything that could help the Highlords would most likely be bad for them.

"If we can," Dalamar said slowly, keeping his voice low- the walls were very thin here- "I would also suggest leaving without Half-elven. He and the others will be staying here tomorrow, and if we can convince the captain to sail, we should leave them behind. Your sister will be after Tanis and we should be as far away as possible when she finds him." He raised an eyebrow at Raistlin, no doubt expecting an argument that they should stay together for safety.

But for once, Raistlin knew when he was beaten. He nodded. They would be safer travelling alone. He had no illusions that Kitiara would be anything but hostile should she find them, and after the Nightmare, he had no intention of being friendly either. He reached over and ran a finger down Dalamar's shoulder, stroking over skin that, in the Dream, his sister's sword had cleaved through. He couldn't repress a shudder at the memory.

Dalamar caught his hand in both of his, stroking his thumb over the palm before pressing his lips to his knuckles. "Come on," he sighed, "One way or another, we've a long day ahead."

He got up and made to walk back to their bunk when Raistlin stopped him. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Dalamar's chest, resting his head on the Dark elf's shoulder with a sigh. Dalamar didn't resist, and Raistlin felt his arms slide around his waist in return. It had been a very long three days, and the days ahead looked to be longer still. They both needed what comfort they could make for themselves. Dalamar's skin was warm under his robes and his lips were soft when Raistlin kissed him.

Raistlin closed his eyes as Dalamar's mouth moved under his, his hands reaching up to his collar and starting to undo the buttons. He smiled as the elf's tongue rasped against his, and his free hand fell down to the small of his back.

Raistlin's cupped Dalamar's cheek with his own hand, fingers tracing the fine bones and ticking over his ear. The hand on Raistlin's back pulled him closer until they were pressed together, chest to chest, with Raistlin's knee parting Dalamar's thighs and both of them smiling into their kiss.

At first, Raistlin thought someone had walked in on them, although he didn't hear the door open. His skin prickled with the undeniable suspicion that they were being watched. Raistlin didn't let that bother him. If whoever was watching didn't like it, they could leave. It wasn't as though they were forcing anyone to stay.

Raistlin turned his head to kiss Dalamar's cheek, planning to work his way up to biting on the Dark elf's ears, which he always liked, and felt an odd chill in the pit of his stomach, quite unlike the usual fire that warmed him during their foreplay. It twisted him inside, and he felt rather sick, hoping it wasn't a prelude to a coughing fit. An odd prickling ran up along his spine to his shoulders, knotting up the muscles in a way that was more distracting than painful.

A cold and horribly familiar numbness spread up his arms from the knot, dulling all feeling and stealing control.

You! Raistlin screamed soundlessly, struggling against the unexpected attack. He thought he heard the foul lich's laughter and he fought off the ice threatening to spread through his body.

Cold claws sinking into his mind, as though Fistandantilus was holding his brain in his talons, stifling thought and crushing will. Raistlin's mind felt scrambled, confused, the lich's control starting the pierce the fragile links of his own.

His senses were numbed, but he could feel Dalamar still holding him. The elf had no doubt realised something was wrong, and his felt the hands holding him clench.

Focus on that. Raistlin repeated to himself. Focus. If he could focus on something- anything- then his control would hold. Dalamar was the perfect subject. His hold on the Dark elf tightened, and he felt his lover reflexively drawn him closer, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Raistlin?" Dalamar's voice was distorted, but recognisable, his breath brushing the side of his neck.

And Raistlin hung onto those feelings, warmth thawing the cold still clawing its way through him, an anchor in the churning sea his mind had become.

Slowly, that sea calmed, and the chill retreated. The mental exercises were so familiar he barely had to think, pushing the invading presence back. Everything was still numb, but the deathly cold was starting to fade. Fistandantilus was not fighting, although whether he was satisfied with this poor show of his powers or if he was weaker than Raistlin had dare to hope, he didn't know.

Slowly the numbness faded with the cold and sensation returned, the cold air in the room felt hot in comparison, and his lover's warm body was a branding iron, welcome pain. Soft robes, firm muscles, the fine edge of elven bone. Raistlin closed his eyes and went limp against Dalamar as the last of Fistandantilus' attack vanished and he was left gasping in anticipation of the coughing fit that would soon strike.

It didn't disappoint, and the pain was all the more painful for being anticipated. Dalamar didn't relinquish his grip- just as well, since if he had Raistlin would have fallen- holding him painfully close. Raistlin held on as best he could as the spasms shook him and his coughed and hacked and spat blood on the Dark elf's robes.

Dalamar ran on hand firmly up and down his back, over muscles knotted tight from the coughing fit, loosening them and making it easier to breathe. Slowly the spasm faded- like the lich's attack, it had been mercifully short- and his coughing slowed, the crippling cramps starting to set in.

Raistlin expected Dalamar to pull away, he appreciated the support, but the Dark elf had to have realised what had just happened. But yet again, it seemed as though his lover would continue to surprise him, because if anything Dalamar just held him tighter and Raistlin started when warm lips brushed his forehead.

Raistlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Dalamar, his body screaming and wanting nothing more than curl up against the pain in his chest.

The Dark elf sighed and started to rub his back again, and Raistlin groaned softly as the stiff muscles started to unknot, "I warned you," was all he said.

Raistlin swallowed painfully, "Aren't you afraid?" He croaked.

Of course he would be, although it would be denied. He couldn't meet Dalamar's gaze and felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with the coughing fit.

"Of course," Dalamar's voice was soft, soothing, his touch gentle. "I'm afraid for you. I have no idea what's happening but it's hurting you. But if I leave that would only hurt you more, which rather defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

"I could hurt you." Raistlin whispered, not too sure why he was arguing the point.

"I know. And if I left it would hurt me too, far more than I imagine you would think possible. So I will stay, and we'll find a way to rid you of this."

Raistlin didn't say anything. He didn't think he _could_ say anything because it felt as though something large was lodged in his throat and he couldn't see clearly and despite the magic and the power and everything there was nothing he would like more than to stay here in Dalamar's arms for the rest of his life. He bit his lip in order not to cry.

Dalamar kissed his forehead again, and lifted a hand to tilt his chin up, leaning down to kiss him more thoroughly.  
Raistlin turned away, there was nothing he wanted more than to reprocate, and resume what they had been doing before being so horribly interrupted, but the thought of Fistandantilus watching this was enough to destroy any pleasure he might have had. Dalamar paused, and stroked Raistlin's cheek gently, smiling sadly.

This time Raistlin let him kiss him, soft, chaste, and when he moved back he whispered against the soft skin of the Dark elf's throat, the remnants of his coughing fit making the words unnaturally harsh, "I love you."

"Of course you do," Dalamar murmured with a contentedness that bordered just this side of smug, then he hugged Raistlin again and said, more gently, "I love you too."

Despite the fading pain in his chest, Raistlin smiled, closing his eyes and relaxing against Dalamar, head rolling against the Dark elf's chest and when Dalamar bent his head to kiss him, Raistlin lifted his face and kissed back.

Dalamar smiled against his lips, and Raistlin felt the hand on his waist stroke down his side and caress the back of his leg. He started at the intimate touch, and pushed Dalamar away.

"What is it?" Fingers touching his cheek.

Raistlin shook his head, he didn't want to risk his voice, but any pleasure he had found in the previous embrace had long evaporated and the thought of sleeping with Dalamar while he could still feel Fistandantilus in his mind was utterly repulsive. Not to mention dangerous, lose risk losing control at this time.

He heard Dalamar sigh, but the Dark elf made no attempt to continue. Raistlin didn't look at him, feeling sick in a way that had nothing to do with his cough. A hollow victory this, but still a victory of a sort. Because whatever Fistandantilus had been planning when he tried to attack, this was probably not the reaction he'd been hoping for.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Dalamar asked.

Raistlin shook his head, he didn't want to risk going to sleep. He was tired, but he'd rather sleep tomorrow. Better than risking another attack.

* * *

The bar was almost as dark as when they had left it, with only the first hesitant tendrils of false dawn starting to lighten the sky. The gale seemed to be fading, the howl of the wind replaced by the sound of heavy rain lashing the oil covered fabric stretched over the windows.

Raistlin sat down beside the fireplace, the same place he had occupied only a short while ago. Dalamar sat opposite him, his pale face holding a hint of a scowl. Raistlin sighed, and dropped his gaze down to his hands clasped in his lap. They had to talk. As impossible as it was, they had to.

"We have to get to Palanthas." He said flatly. If the Dragon Orb was the only way of getting rid of Fistandantilus, then the sooner they had the means to use it, the better.

Dalamar didn't argue the point, looking away into the crumbling ashes of the fire. Raistlin knew what he feared, the same fear that was clenched deep inside himself. What would happened if they were wrong, if the Dragon Orb couldn't help them? Raistlin didn't dare speak the words aloud any more than Dalamar did, as if speaking of their fears would make them real.

"Is it getting harder?" Dalamar said suddenly. Raistlin looked up, frowning, and he elaborated. "To stop... whatever it is, is it getting harder to fight it off?"

Raistlin felt his throat clench in warning, but gritted his teeth and quickly shook his head, gratified to see some of the tension in Dalamar's shoulders relax.

"And can you keep fighting it off," Dalamar glanced back at him, "at least as long as it takes for us to get to Palanthas and find these books?"

Raistlin wished he'd had the presence of mind to make his tea before getting into this conversation, it might not stave off the vengeful coughing fit creeping up on him, but at least it would help afterwards. He nodded swiftly, then doubled over coughing.

"Oh Nuitari," Dalamar groaned, and Raistlin felt him touch his shoulder. Luckily the spasm was a short one, a warning as to what would happen if they continued this line of questioning. Raistlin swallowed painfully a few times and wiped his mouth, no blood this time, thank the Gods.

He glanced up at Dalamar, who was shaking his head. "You really can't speak of this at all, can you?"

Raistlin felt his lips stretch into a poor smile, and shook his head. He's tried to write it down once, and had barely written two words before the coughing fit had hit him, it had been so violent that he'd knocked over the ink bottle and after that had stopped trying.

Dalamar touched his hair gently and shook his head again, sighing. "Palanthas." He said instead. "I hope you're right."

Raistlin nodded, so was he.

_Skull Bearer._


	16. To Break

_Myar: Fistandantilus is the ultimate bad guy. He had no scruples whatsoever. Raistlin and Dalamar might be 'Dark' but they're nowhere near this guy. Unfortunately for all involved, he's only just getting into his stride._

_ksha2222: Um, yes, sorry about that. It was their fault -points at X-men comics-_

_Ceretis Paribus: Wait no longer._

_Fading Echo: I just don't like any of the 'good guys' very much, least of all Tanis. And yes, poor Dalamar._

_Dracoqueen22: I hope you liked my re-written chapter better._

_And a special thank you to Berylia-Crystalia who's writing a ton of reviews for Ivory and Ebony. Thank you so very much, it really makes my day when people take the time to review my old chapters. _

_Skyehawke:_

_Luni: Thank you so much! It's so rare that people take the time to review on this site, and yours made my day. Hope you like this._

_Livejournal:_

_shadowvalkyrie: -very, very/very/ evil laugh-_

_jehz: As I've said, I hope you enjoyed the new version better._

_analiathe1st: As always, a thousand thanks for the beta. It was very helpful, and I like the chapter a lot more because of it.  
I know, I've been dreadful at updates. But hopefully things will sort themselves out. This was a very hard chapter to write, not because I found it difficult, but because I didn't want to write it. Still, it's finished, and I know where I'm going from here._

**Nocturnale**

Chapter Fifteen: To Break

_Brain fried tonight through misuse  
Through misuse, through misuse  
You can't avoid static abuse  
Abuse, abuse  
-The Automatic Monster_

It took a long time for the night to end, and even longer for true dawn to start. The gale had blown itself out at last, which was something of a relief, even though it mean swapping the endless wind for equally endless rain, but while a ship couldn't sail through a gale, it could through rain. The silent hours had only reinforced Raistlin's certainty that they had to leave. The low clouds seemed to press down on them, a weight that threatened to crush them if they didn't escape.

The crash and rattle of footsteps jolted him out of his half-dreaming reverie, Raistlin blinked and rubbed his itching eyes, looking over at the staircase. Caramon came down first, still dressed in the dragon armour and with the worn stairs creaking complaint under the combined weight. "-seas will be running high-" He broke off, looking at the two mages in surprise. "Were you down here all night?"

Raistlin sent him a withering look. He had never had much patience with his brother at the best of times- which this certainly wasn't- but quite frankly, if after they left he never saw Caramon again, he wouldn't care. And if afterwards Kitiara discovered where Tanis was, and came after them and yes, killed them all, he would shed no tears. He just hoped he and Dalamar were far away when that inevitably happened.

Tika followed Caramon down, and the look she sent Raistlin put his own scowl to shame, "Don't _bother _with them, Caramon." She sighed, "Maybe we shouldn't risk going out-"

"We're going. Today." Tanis said flatly, appearing from the shadows of the stairway. "If we have to swim, we're leaving Flotsam."

Raistlin didn't know whether to snort in amusement or scowl. Tanis really chose a wonderful time to come to his senses. He wondered if Half-human would tell them the truth this time, the reason why they had to leave in such a hurry.

Apparently not. "I'm sorry, I know I sound arbitrary, but there are dangers I know about that I can't explain right now-" Raistlin could almost have laughed, that made two of them- "There isn't time. All I can tell you is this; we have never in our lives been in more danger than we are at the moment in this town. We have to leave and we have to leave now!" Tanis was almost hysterical by the end.

The silence was complete, broken only by the monotonous rain lashing the oilcloth windows. The others looked confused and disturbed, and it was all Raistlin could do not to accuse Half-elven of what he was hiding from them.

For him, who couldn't tell his secret no matter how much he wished to, to watch Tanis keep his for no other reason than his own vanity was sickening. Raistlin looked at Dalamar, the Dark elf's face was completely expressionless, even though Tanis was very carefully not looking at either of them. The human mage doubted the others could read anything of the elf's thoughts behind the steel of his face, but Raistlin could pick out the faint lines of a frown, and the way his lips were thinner than usual. He was worried.

_"-Sure Tanis"  
"-We're all packed-"_

Dalamar caught his eyes, and lifted an eyebrow _'now what?'_ Raistlin gave a slight shrug, he didn't know either.

_"-Let's go then"  
"-I've got to get my things"  
"-Go on, be quick-_

Raistlin inclined his head slightly towards the door, should they go anyway?

Dalamar's lip curled, what else could they do?  
Raistlin sighed. Indeed. They had to get to Palanthas as quickly as possible. The human mage had thought about using the Dragon Orb to teleport them there. He knew how to do it, but the thought of using that artefact was disturbing in a way he couldn't describe even to himself. Besides, he had a feeling Dalamar would be completely against using it for anything but a life-or-death situation, not after what had happened last night.

* * *

The rain was every bit as unpleasant as Raistlin had feared, despite the thick, waterproofed cloak his kept pulled close around him. It was warmer though, the wind blowing from the north rather than the south, and his cough left him alone,even without having taken his tea that morning. 

A troop walked past them, the rain was too thick to tell is they were draconians or not, and Raistlin took comfort that if they couldn't see them clearly, then the creatures could not identify them either. Also, if there were troops out then hopefully Kitiara was still looking for Tanis, and wasn't already waiting for them at the Perechon.

Raistlin stumbled, his boots slipping on the slick wood of the docks. Dalamar caught his arm and steadied him. Raistlin smiled gratefully and the Dark elf returned it, but didn't remove his hand, squeezing softly. Raistlin paused, and covered the elf's hand with his own. Trust. How strange that Dalamar should learn to trust him at a time when Raistlin didn't trust himself.

The Dark elf turned his hand over, entangling their fingers and tugging at Raistlin's. They were being left behind.

The human mage nodded and picked up his pace. Dalamar didn't release his hand, instead holding on a little tighter.

Raistlin smiled, and he hadn't seen the ship, he would have reached up and kissed Dalamar. But after several bad experiences with sailors and their superstitions, they had better not risk it before they actually on board. He had lost count of number of times they had lost time and money to sailors who believed that Dark elves, mages or men who liked men were bad luck to have on board.

Hopefully, these pirates wouldn't be as fussy.

By what Raistlin could see when they climbed the gangplank, the Perechon was much as Dalamar had described it, and Raistlin even more convinced that short of risking the Dragon Orb, this was the fastest way out of Flotsam.

There were few crew members out on deck, mostly ones occupied with locking down the hatches against the downpour. They looked up in surprise as the group climbed up the gangway, and became agitated when they came close enough to recognise Tanis and Caramon's armour. One of them called down a hatch for a 'Koraf'.

Raistlin shivered. His cloak was thickly oiled, but the rain was getting heavier by the moment. The water dripped off the hood and drenched his face, and a cold fist clenched at his lungs. He wondered if they might be able to meet this 'Koraf' somewhere out of the rain.

Koraf turned out to be a massive, black furred minotaur. If the situation hadn't been so distracting, Raistlin would have been intrigued. He and Dalamar had only seen minotaurs a handful of times, and those usually from a distance.  
The minotaur listened to Tanis' words in silence, then marched over to what must be the captain's cabin and banged on the door, bellowing that the passengers were here.

"Send 'em back," He hear a woman's voice call back, "We're not sailing today."

The minotaur wave a huge hairy hand, indicating that they should leave.

Tanis shook his head. "I need to speak to Maq, it's vitally important."The minotaur snorted, blowing spray from it's huge nostrils, "You deaf?" It rumbled, "We're not sailing, get back to shore."

"I have to speak to her!" Tanis insisted desperately, trying, futilely, to push past the massive creature.

"Get back to shore you bilge rat!" Koraf roared, giving Tanis a shove that sent the shorter Half-elf flying.

Raistlin stepped back from the minotaur, his boots skidding on the wet deck. He wondered what to do now. He might be able to duck past Koraf to the captain's cabin, if Tanis kept the creature occupied. On the other hand, if they were forced to leave, he and Dalamar could come back later to convince the captain and be able to leave alone.

Before he could decided on a course of action, though, the door opened and captain Maquesta herself appeared. "What's going on!" She shouted above Koraf's snarls. "I said we're not sailing today Half-elf, and I meant it-"

"Maquesta," Tanis tried to push past the minotaur again, but a heavy hand caught him back the collar of his armour. "I've got to talk to you!" He shouted.

Caramon reached for his sword, but before he could draw it, Koraf brandished a heavy dirk at him, snorting. Raistlin backed away further, standing beside Dalamar near the debatable shelter of the mizzen-mast. Half the crew seemed to have joined them on deck to watch the fight, but Maquesta and Tanis quickly diffused the tension. The captain gave the Half-elf a scrutinising look then sighed, "Come to my cabin," She growled.

Raistlin shivered again as a blast of wind sent a curtain of rain washing over them. Dalamar slid an arm around his shoulders, and hugged him close. A few crewmembers looked at them, but nothing was said. Raistlin leant against the Dark elf, grateful for the warmth.  
Then Dalamar's hand tightened on his shoulder, Raistlin looked up, and the Dark elf nodded towards one of the few men who hadn't reacted to their presence.

_Him!_

Dalamar might not have recognised the man, but then he didn't have his eyes. So few people didn't die when he saw them that he always remembered them vividly. Even though this man should be dead in truth. Raistlin quickly looked away before the man caught him staring.  
"The man in Pax Tharkas," He hissed to Dalamar, "The man with the green gemstone in his chest."

The elf's grey eyes went wide, "Of course," he breathed, "I knew that I'd seen him before."

They fell silent, both thinking. Pax Tharkas. Eben the traitor must have meant to take the man to Verminaad. But why did they want him so much? The man was human, yet he didn't age in Raistlin's eyes. Was he immortal perhaps? He had seen him crushed by dozens of massive boulders, yet here he was now, less than a year later, untouched and unharmed. Immortality and invulnerability, if this man held the keys to those, then no wonder the Dragon Highlords wanted him. Raistlin himself was tempted. Still, best not to get ahead of themselves. They had other priorities. To keep themselves out of the claws of the Dragon Highlords, to get rid of Fistandantilus one way or another, and to find some way of ending this war- all without losing each other in the process. Then they could turn their attentions to other mysteries.

Maquesta and Tanis returned on deck, the Half-elf looking incredibly seasick and leaning heavily on the sea captain. Raistlin smirked as Tanis staggered over to the rail and threw up.

* * *

The Perechon snuck out of port without giving any signal. By what they overheard from the crew, few others save the Highlord's ships gave signals, and this shouldn't attract attention. 

Despite riding on a short sail, the wind backed, sending the ship skimming into the Blood Sea of Istar. None of them had ever been this far east.

Raistlin looked out over the rail towards where the sun as finally rising. He had read of Istar, and it was strange to think that they would soon be sailing over the very land that had not only caused the Cataclysm, but had also suffered the greatest from it. His hand closed on the bag containing the Dragon Orb, and wondered if their ship would be passing over the very Tower from which it had been taken.  
How many more treasures were still buried below the waves?

And why, Raistlin wondered, did that magic seem utterly worthless if it was unable to help them?

Raistlin looked at Dalamar's face, he was looking back at the mainland and Raistlin knew he was half-expecting the Highlord's ships to start after them, or worse, to spot the leading edges of a dragon's wings.

The crew had propped up a sail on the deck to act as a shelter from the rain, but it wasn't until Flotsam had finally vanished from sight and they were alone on the hazy ocean that he and Dalamar crouched under it. They couldn't see much save for the deck, but it was dry, and almost comfortable after they had wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets.

The others hadn't joined them, preferring to be out on deck, and Raistlin was savagely pleased that even Goldmoon's powers couldn't do much for Tanis' seasickness. He tried not to think of the possibilities of having the Half-elf with them, as though thinking of the Dragon Highlords would alert them to their presence.

* * *

Mercifully, there was no sign of them all day, and by nightfall they had seen neither sight nor sound of a pursuing ship or a dragon's wing. The two mages hadn't moved much that day, only to pillage their packs for food and accept a ration of ship's biscuits from the crew. After the rush to launch, the ship was undersupplied, and Raistlin had heard the captain planned to put into Mithas to restock. Luckily, after the storm water was no problem. 

The two of them took it in turned to sleep, theoretically to keep a watch for the Dragon Highlords, but they both knew the truth- the danger they feared was far closer to home.

Raistlin was awake when the sun rose. Despite the choppy water and bad food, he didn't feel sick, even his cough didn't bother him much- which was a relief, since it would be hard to boil water for his tea here. Raistlin stood up stiffly, pulling the blankets over the still-sleeping Dalamar and walking out to the rail.

Tanis, Riverwind, Goldmoon and Maquesta were close by, staring out to sea.

Even though he knew what he was going to see, Raistlin's first sight of the Blood Sea was still a shock.

He had seen many relics of the Cataclysm. Xak Tsaroth... Tarsis... but this was the most poignant. He had expected the sea to be a dull brownish-red, but what he saw was the shade of freshly spilled blood, as though, as legends said, it was tainted by the blood of those who had died when the burning mountain fell on Istar.

The deck creaked behind him, and Dalamar's hand closed on the rail on top of him, the elf's pale fingers interlacing with his own golden ones. He didn't speak, the sheer scale of this monument to the Kingpriest's folly rendering him speechless. His other hand touched Raistlin's shoulder, and they stood in silence, watching.

"Deck ho!" The lookout's shrill voice shattered the silence, "Sail to the west!"

The others jumped, and even the two mages tensed. Raistlin couldn't see anything through the clouds hanging low over the horizon, and even Dalamar was frowning, trying to pick out what had been seen.

"A ship?" He heard Maquesta ask Koraf, who was peering through a spyglass.

"No," The minotaur grunted, "A cloud mebbe. But it go fast, very fast. Faster than any cloud I ever see."

The bottom of Raistlin's stomach dropped away as he and Dalamar looked at each other, both coming to the same horrifying realisation. Oh no.

Now Raistlin could see what- or rather/who/- Koraf had seen. Dark specks on the horizon, silhouetted against the retreating clouds, barely visible, but rapidly getting bigger.

Oh Gods...

* * *

"Dragons." Dalamar said dully, stating what they both knew. "Blue dragons. It has to be your sister." 

The crewmembers were scuttling around as frantically as ants from a broken nest, trying to set the sails and get all speed. But the ship was not a griffon, and this time there would be no outrunning them.

"Keep near the edge of the storm!" Maquesta shouted at Berem. The strange man was at the helm, turning the ship until the wind sent it almost skipping over the waves.

"Useless," Raistlin murmured, feeling sick. "The dragons are too fast, we can't outrun them..."

'Tarsis all over again' went unspoken. The same result, either they would be captured, or- Raistlin could barely think of it.

No. The Dragon Orb. He might not have the power to turn the dragons back, but he had the knowledge to have it teleport them out. It was a terrible risk, but any chance was better than none. They would try it, and head to Palanthas the only way that remained to them.

"You!" Riverwind's voice sheared through Raistlin's thoughts. The Plainsman to looking at him and Dalamar in loathing. "You betrayed us once- more than once, no wonder you were up so early this morning." He spat. "What did they offer you!"

The accusation was so outrageous that Raistlin could barely marshal his thought to speak. But before he could, Tanis broke in.  
"Riverwind, they didn't do this." The Half-elf looked mortified, but apparently even his hypocrisy wouldn't stretch far enough to have others accused in his stead. "I- I must have been followed."

"How can you say that Tanis," Goldmoon said softly, staring at the two mages with eyes like poison. "You remember Tarsis, and Sturm, and the Nightmare."

"I know." Tanis gritted his teeth, but his guilt was still greater than his dislike for the two of them. "This- this isn't anything to do with them. I know. I-" He broke off.

"Tanis," Goldmoon touched his forearm, but the Half-elf turned away.

"Just- No. Just leave me." He started away.

A horrific sound split the air.

Raistlin had heard dragons roar so loudly the ground shook, and had thought his ears might split from a griffon's shriek. But this cry was the most terrible of all from coming from a human throat.

"Berem-" Maquesta started towards her maddened helmsman, "No!"

Berem spun the wheel and turned the Perechon around so fast the mizzenmast snapped. Trailing ropes and men, the mast swayed and plummeted into the Blood Sea. Dalamar dragged Raistlin down as the ropes holding the mast snapped and lashed through the air like rabid vipers. For a moment, Raistlin was certain the ship would capsize entirely, but slowly, agonisingly slowly, Berem steered the Perechon into the wind. The remaining sails filled and the ship righted itself drunkenly.

Raistlin staggered to his feet, the staff of Magius was in his hand instantly and he used it to push himself upright. Dalamar stumbled up after him on the rocking deck, Raistlin reached out instinctively to steady him, leaning against the railing. He was so shaken that their surroundings didn't register as once.

Raistlin stiffened, and his breath caught in his throat when he realised what was happening. Berem was steering straight into the storm over the Blood Sea. Maquesta had obviously realised the same thing, and was running towards the helmsman, shouting something, then stalling, apparently deciding that the only man capable of getting them out of this was the one that had got them into it.

She might well be right. Raistlin hesitated, wondering if he should carry out his plan to use the Dragon Orb or not. He decided against it. If there was any chance they could get out of this, they should take it rather that risk the artefact. Even though he couldn't see how anything could be worse than this.

The clouds hung over them like a nightmare, jet black and deadly as the stormclouds he had seen over Abanasinia. The lightning was a sickening green that reminded Raistlin of the gem impaled in Berem's chest, and the thrashing waves were like clotted blood. The wind hit a moment later, with the rain and hail.

The ship lurched again as the dragging mast was cut loose. Above them, the sailors were scrambling to take down the sails from the remaining mast. Another gust of wind tore through the ship, whipping the trailing ropes wildly. Raistlin clutched Dalamar as he started to cough, the world was rocking madly, and he hung onto the Dark elf as an anchor when the world seemed to be about to turn upside down.

"Do you think we've lost them?" Caramon asked, looking over at his brother.

Raistlin swallowed back the pain and wiped his mouth. The blood on his hand was the same colour as the waves crashing against the ship. He couldn't see Tanis' reaction, but he could imagine it. For a few moments, he hoped that Caramon might, for once, be right.

Suddenly Dalamar cried out in horror, Raistlin spun around and couldn't stop himself from trembling as the dragon's head tore through the clouds like sackcloth. It's jaws opened, revealing rows of huge teeth, and for a moment, Raistlin was certain it would incinerate the ship.

And then, just when Raistlin was certain things couldn't get any worse, they did. The screaming wind had torn Berem's shirt open, and the gem imbedded in his chest was blazing with a light that put the lightning to shame. It gleamed like a sickening green star and Raistlin saw the glare burning off the sleek curves of the helm of the Dragon Highlord, now emerging from the flying clouds.

Even without knowing the truth, Raistlin knew he would never have mistaken the Dragon Highlord for anyone other than his sister. Even with her mask, her identity was obvious in every detail, the way she rode, the way she held herself. He knew. Kitiara lifted one hand, preparing to signal her dragon to dive.

"Kitiara!" The words tore free from Raistlin's throat, wildly hoping to interrupt the fierce concerntration it would take to steer a dragon through this storm. He couldn't believe how loud his voice sounded.

It worked. Kitiara saw him, then Dalamar and Caramon and the rest of them. The dragon reared higher suddenly, no longer able to compete with the gale, and started to slip behind. For a moment, Raistlin dared to hope, but with a roar the creature surged forward again. Kitiara pointed at Berem, and with a second, deafening shriek, the dragon prepared to dive. Raistlin stumbled back, suddenly certain that his sister would take and kill them too.

But it was too late, the Perechon was deeper than ever in the storm, and the buffeting winds made it impossible for the dragon to fight it's way through them to the ship. Frantically beating it's wings, the dragon flew away; through the clouds and out of sight.

They didn't have time to sigh their relief when a wave crashed over them, and the world went white with spray, then red with water. Raistlin couldn't see, he lost his grip on Dalamar's robes and his staff as his eyes and ears were filled with roaring water. The drag of the water clawed at him as the wave washed back overboard, pulling him back over the slick boards. Raistlin opened his mouth to cry out, and choked as he swallowed a mouthful of seawater. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it tasted of blood.

Raistlin's hands scrabbled futilely over the wooden deck, panic clawing up his throat, certain he was about to be swept overboard.

Dalamar's hand closed around his wrist. Raistlin looked up, half-blinded by water dripping from his sodden hair. The Dark elf's teeth were bared and his grip was painful, his other hand clutching a length of rope so tightly it drew blood. He looked as though he would rather follow Raistlin over the side than relinquish his grip.

"Get below you lubber!" Maquesta roared at them. Raistlin spat something on to the deck- water or blood, he couldn't tell- "Take your friends and get below! You're in our way! Use my cabin."

The Dark elf pulled him to his feet, and the Staff of Magius reappeared in his hand. There was no sign of his sister or her dragons through the driving rain and flying clouds.

Dalamar all but manhandled the stunned mage across the deck, brushing past the horrified Caramon and pushing the captain's door open. The cabin was small and cramped, the four walls an illusion of security. Raistlin collapsed on the narrow bunk, dripping wet. Coughs shook him and he couldn't stop shaking, both from cold and from shock. Dalamar sat next to him and drew him into his arms.

Raistlin shuddered and buried his face in the Dark elf's robes. If it wasn't for the others, he thought he might be about to cry. Instead he bit back the lump in his throat and ignored the glares they sent Tanis. He felt weak and vulnerable, and wanted nothing more than to hold Dalamar until they both felt better.

"So that's where you were these four days," Caramon said softly to Tanis, "With our _sister_. Our sister, the Dragon Highlord!"

Raistlin didn't look up. Tanis wasn't worth the energy and he'd rather stay like this, Dalamar's skin was warm through his soaked robes, and his hands stroked gently over his back and neck. The Dark elf glowered at Tanis, and pulled Raistlin still closer, nuzzling his wet hair.

"Did you know?" Goldmoon was looking at them, her face cold and hard as marble.

"Would you have believed us?" Raistlin lifted his head and rested his chin on Dalamar's shoulder.

"Will you stop that!" Caramon finally exploded as Dalamar's hands rubbed over Raistlin's back again, warming him.

Raistlin felt a burning flash of hate towards his brother. Incredible. Considering how Tika had spent the last few weeks hanging off Caramon like a limpet. Raistlin couldn't stand being here any more. His brother's simple presence was intolerable, and the thought of listening to Half-human's self pitying diatribe was more than he could bear right now.

His legs shook when he struggled to his feet and left the room, Dalamar close behind. They stood in the short corridor, the door slamming behind them. Dalamar leant across from him, behind the door, he could hear Tanis' voice, barely audible over the crash of thunder and the scream of the wind.

The floor rocked threateningly and Dalamar lost his balance and pitched into the opposite wall. Raistlin steadied him. They didn't speak. They leant against the wall, Raistlin drew Dalamar into his arms and smiled when the Dark elf kissed his cheek.

The floor rocked again, almost knocking Raistlin over, then seemed to settle into a very strange rhythm, one more suited for a river than a storm-tossed sea. They barely had time to register this when the door flew open and Koraf shoved past them, the massive minotaur almost filling the small passageway and crushing the slender mages against the wall. He all but knocked the door down, bellowing for them to get on deck.

Raistlin knew what had happened the moment he followed Koraf outside. The steady forward motion, the crew staring in horror over the rail, and Maquesta's hate-filed face. He knew. He didn't want to admit it to himself.

"You have destroyed us, you and that blasted helmsman!" Maquesta snarled, then spoke the very words Raistlin couldn't utter himself.

"We are caught in the Maelstrom."

* * *

Raistlin caught Dalamar's arm with a strength that surprised him. He didn't feel his cough, didn't feel the weakness he had live with for years. He felt as strong as he had before his Test as he dragged the Dark elf back to Maquesta's cabin. Dalamar didn't argue, Raistlin didn't explain. The elf only followed, without even the reluctance he usually portrayed when Raistlin couldn't explain something. Dalamar knew of the powers of the Dragon Orb, and he was clever enough to understand what Raistlin planned to do. He didn't look surprised when the human mage closed the door behind them and withdrew the Dragon Orb's bag from his robes. 

"Will it take both of us?" Dalamar asked, leaning against the door.

Raistlin scowled at him, between the terror of the last few hours and his disgust with the others, this was the last straw. "Do you think I would have suggested it otherwise?" He hissed, outraged.

Dalamar stiffened, then shook his head, smiling slightly. His hand closed on Raistlin's. "No."

Raistlin gritted his teeth and nodded sharply, opening the enchanted sack and withdrawing the Orb. The touch of it was repellent, like plunging his hand into a writhing mass of maggots. He felt dizzy, everything was happening so fast, and ice pricked his palms like needles.

"What about the others?" Dalamar hesitated.

"What _about_ the others?" Raistlin snapped. This was Tanis' fault, and he could deal with it. As for the others, he didn't care if they drowned or the dragon ate them. But not Dalamar. He would not leave Dalamar to die. Not again. _Never_ again.

Raistlin held the Dragon Orb loosely. It swelled suddenly, doubling- tripling- in size until it filled his cupped hands. The change of size prompted a surge of vertigo that nearly made him lose his footing on the rocking floor. He felt even dizzier, bile rising until he thought he might throw up. He struggled to focus, to marshal his thoughts to command the Orb.

It pulsed in his hands like an obscene heart- or perhaps, like Berem's green gem- the colours swirled, the putrid green spinning into colours he could barely comprehend, let alone describe. It hurt his eyes to look at it and he glanced away, looking up and meeting Dalamar's gaze.

The Dark elf's face was stained a ghostly green, the memory of Silvanesti Nightmare resurfacing, painfully poignant. The elf's lips thinned, his silver eyes glinting, resigning himself for using this hated artefact. He nodded stiffly.

Raistlin nodded back, now feeling even more sick, his chest tightening warningly. He ignored it, recalling to mind the words that had been revealed to him when last he studied the Orb. He felt as though the chill of his wet robs had crawled into his bones.

The moment he started the chant, he knew something was going horribly, nightmarishly wrong. The chill deepened and a sickeningly familiar prickling started along the back of his arms. A dull numbness spread through him, filling him with ice, his frozen mouth continuing to chant, the same spell, but with one dreadful exception.

A burst of alien thought shredded his already dazed mind, scattering his control and tearing his thoughts apart.

Fistandantilus!

'No!' Raistlin's mind screamed, and had he control, he would have shouted it in truth, destroying the spell. But it was too late, the lich had too much control, and the chanted words didn't falter. Through the rising fog in his eyes- like frost on a window pane- Raistlin could see Dalamar's face pale in the dim light, the terrible truth dawning on the Dark elf's face.

It was he last thing he saw. The elf's horrified face swam in his minds eye as Fistandantilus completed the chant, despite Raistlin's mental screams. The lich's hands- his hands- tightened on the Orb, and the artefact dragged him away. Alone.

Leaving Dalamar as he had sworn he would never leave him.

As he couldn't have imagined ever leaving him.

As he had left him in the Nightmare.

To die.

**The End**

_Of Nocturnale, that is..._


End file.
